When the Dust Clears
by threesummerdays
Summary: It's been two months since Harry lost the love of his life, and he's barely coping. And then everything changes. Funny how one almost forgotten detail can change your world. Following canon finale, but with a twist.
1. Drinking

**A/N:** It's been a long time since I've reviewed, let alone written, but this idea wouldn't leave me alone. Nothing like DEM, but maybe worth reading… :)

* * *

He's sitting at his desk staring out the window, focused intently on the still-empty desk. He hasn't had the heart to hire a new analyst to take her place. Not that anyone could ever take her place on their team, in his life, in his heart. But someone needed to fill the physical void in their staff, and he still can't quite do it.

He's in the midst of reminiscing about that day – cold and windy and everything he should have expected on the day of the greatest tragedy of his life – and wondering if a drink at nine in the morning would be too much too early when Erin walks in.

"Harry?" she says quietly.

"Knock," he murmurs, ripping his gaze form the desk and staring at his paperwork.

"I did," she says, but she's not accusing him. "A few times. I just wanted to talk to you about something."

"I haven't looked at the files," he says, carefully ignoring the stack of personnel papers on the corner nearest his Section Chief.

"I didn't expect you to," she admits. "I was just going to say…"

When she trails off, she catches his attention, and he looks up at her curiously. She quickly shakes her head.

"Never mind," she mutters, turning around. "Di and Cal are looking into Monaghan, and…"

"Erin, what were you going to say?"

"It's nothing, Harry, really. Just…"

He waits, almost impatiently, but he knows she's trying to be delicate with him after… It's only been two months, after all.

"Maybe you should take some time off," she says finally. "I'm not saying retirement or a period of extended leave. Just… a week or so. Try to settle your mind."

"My mind is never going to settle," he points out with weary sadness. "She was the only thing that mattered, Erin."

"What about Catherine?" Erin points out. "I'm not saying they're comparable, but she means something to you. Have you seen her in a while?"

"Not for a few months, no," he admits. Silently, he reminds himself that there's also Graham. They're not speaking often, but he did receive an email from his son, most likely written under Catherine's direction, that suggested they should meet.

"Why don't you talk to her? I can't even imagine how you… But I think you need to talk to someone. Not," she adds quickly, "a therapist. I know that wouldn't help. Just… talk to her. She'd love to hear from you, I'm sure."

"I might," he concedes. "I'm sorry I haven't been the Head I should be for the past few weeks."

"I'd never blame you for that," Erin murmurs. "And you've been better than you think. But that's part of why I think you need to get out of here. Just for a bit. Let yourself be human for a few days. And then you can come back and save the world again."

She says the last bit to try to make him smile, but it just serves to remind him that he'll never have her by his side again, saving the world together. He feels the tears starting behind his eyes, and he hopes Erin notices his blinking. She does and quickly retreats to the doorway.

"Just think about it, Harry. We can hold down the fort for as long as you want."

"Thank you," he says, nodding gratefully. "I will."

* * *

Two days into his week away and he's in a drunken stupor. Again.

Erin's suggestion sounded good at the time, but being alone has just exacerbated his depression and he's sunk to drinking a fine whiskey every morning, afternoon, evening – every sleepless hour of the worthless day, he wants to drown his sorrows.

And now he's sitting in the armchair with another tumbler. Ready for another night of being alone and inebriated.

The knock on the door is unexpected to say the least, and he struggles vertical, settling the glass on the table. He picks his way carefully around the piles of her books and scarves and papers that he stole from her house and keeps in his hallway, finally reaching the door. He takes a breath and tries to feel more sober before he opens the door.

"Graham," he slurs, and his son's face goes from anxious to surprised to annoyed.

"Sorry," Graham mutters, shoving his hands deeper in his pockets. "I didn't know I was interrupting anything. Forget I came by."

"No, Graham," Harry says, reaching out and letting his fingers fall just short of his son's arm. "Please. Come in."

"No, really, I'll just…"

"Graham, I've just lost the love of my life," he says, the liquor giving him a frankness he's never had with his son. "Please don't make me lose my only son, too."

Graham stares at him and for a moment Harry wonders if he's stepped too far. He knows Graham is still sensitive about the divorce, and calling another woman the love of his life won't give him any points.

But somehow, he's said the right thing and Graham nods and shrugs. "Okay," he says, and Harry feels his heart lighten for the first time in a long time. He steps aside and Graham comes in.

Harry can tell the instant Graham steps into the hallway that he wonders why his father's keeping so many boxes in his hallway. The younger man doesn't say anything and simply waits for his father to lead the way.

"Coffee? Tea?" Harry asks, pointing his son down the hall, and Graham follows his direction.

"Tea's great, thanks," Graham says, more gently than Harry anticipates.

Harry struggles with the kettle for a moment before Graham steps in. Harry watches him for a moment, then settles into a chair at the table and watches his son.

Graham has gained back the weight he lost while he was exploring the world of narcotics, so Harry assumes that means he's clean. His hair is neatly trimmed close to his head, and his clothes look new. Harry can't help but be proud of him, knowing that the effort he's made to get out of his old drug habits is gargantuan at the very least.

"You're clean," he says without thinking, and Graham stiffens for a moment before he nods.

"Yeah," he says, poking through the cupboards and pulling down two mugs. "A two years on Friday."

"Do you have a job?"

"Yeah. It's not with the government," he adds with a slight grimace, "but it's okay."

"What is it?"

"Cameraman," he admits with a blush. "I'm working for the BBC."

"Wow," Harry says, raising his eyebrows. "That's fantastic. You always did love cameras, didn't you?"

Graham nods and blushes a little deeper red.

"Who gave you that first one?" Harry asks. "You could have only been eight or so."

"You did," Graham says quietly. "My first camera. It was yours and you gave it to me."

Harry watches him for a minute and marvels at the young man his son has become. He's about to say something sentimental when Graham stands up and says, "Kettle's ready."

They drink their tea in silence, and Harry can feel himself sobering up. He thinks briefly that it's almost time to tell Graham about what's been going on, but then Graham clears his throat.

"Catherine said she was worried about you," he says, and Harry feels a twinge again.

"I'm fine," he says, and Graham raises an eyebrow. In that moment, he looks so much like Jane that Harry almost laughs.

"You're not," Graham says matter-of-factly. "But I don't think now's the best time to talk about it. Have you slept at all?"

"Er…"

"You should probably sleep," he says, setting down his mug and standing. He offers his hand and Harry takes it, standing shakily. "Come on. You need rest."

Harry wants to argue, but before he can form a sentence, he finds himself nudged up the stairs and into his bedroom. He starts to say he doesn't need help, but Graham is already pulling the duvet back and gently helping his father remove his shirt.

"You can do the jeans on your own," Graham says with a hint of a smile. "Think you'll be all right now?"

"I think so," Harry says, and Graham nods.

"Right. Well, get some sleep."

"You can stay in the spare room," Harry says. Graham looks nervous. "Please," Harry adds. "I'd feel better if you stayed there."

"I might," he says slowly. "Night, Dad."

Harry watches his son close the door behind him and he steps out of his jeans. He topples into bed in his pants and vest and, for the first time in a long time, he closes his eyes and sleeps.

He wakes up the next morning with a pounding head and the feeling that he's about to have a very serious kind of day. He remembers Graham's visit and decides it's time to take a real shower and to really shave today. He does both and changes into clean clothes that look halfway respectable. By the time he walks back downstairs, he feels almost normal.

He finds Graham at the kitchen table reading the paper and sipping coffee.

"Fresh brew," his son offers, and Harry nods gratefully.

When he sits down with a piece of toast, Graham puts down the paper and stares at him.

"Sleep well?"

"Fine," Harry says. "You?"

"I took the spare like you asked. I'll wash the sheets before I go."

"Nonsense," Harry says gently. "You're my son."

Graham nods and runs his finger along the rim of his mug. "Catherine said you were in a bad state," he says, echoing the night before. "I wasn't sure about seeing you, but she said it would be good for you."

"It is," Harry admits. "I've missed you. I know I was a terrible father…"

"Can we not do that?" Graham asks suddenly. "Look back on the past and blame someone? I… I don't want to be the stereotypical 'getting clean changed my life,' but it did, and I don't want to keep blaming you."

Harry nods, too choked up by his son's admission to notice Graham's returning blush. They're neither of them emotionally forthright – Harry winces at the phrase – but they're working on it.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Harry shakes his head. "It's still too…"

"Raw?"

He nods.

"That's how I felt," Graham admits. "When I went into group. I had done some pretty terrible things – I know you know, you've seen the reports – and when they asked me to tell them about what had happened, it just felt… wrong. But it did help, once I got there."

"I want to talk about it," Harry says, "and my Section Chief says I need to, but it's just so painful."

"What was her name?" Graham asks softly.

"Ruth. Her name was Ruth."

Graham can tell just by the way his father says the woman's name that she was not a fling. She was someone special. Whatever anger still exists toward his father because of the divorce evaporates when he notices the tears starting at the corners of Harry's eyes.

When he was younger, Graham blamed Harry for everything. He still blames him from time to time, but when Catherine called him a few weeks ago to say that their dad wasn't doing too well, he agreed (reluctantly) to visit. And now, seeing the great man looking like this, Graham can't stay angry.

"What was she like?"

"Beautiful. Remarkable. Brilliant. She had the most amazing blue eyes," Harry says, looking wistfully at his coffee. "They sparkled whenever she found something new. Or when she was talking about Homer. And when she smiled…"

Harry breaks off and shakes his head.

"I'm sorry, Graham," he whispers, brushing at his cheeks. "I don't mean to be so emotional."

"I think I can forgive you, Dad," he says. "What happened?"

"She died," Harry says simply. "She got in between me and a man who wanted to kill me. And she died in my arms."

"Did you tell her?"

"Tell her what?"

"That you loved her?"

"No," Harry says, and Graham is shocked. "We never said it, even though it was true for both of us. It's my biggest regret. Well, other than being so distant with you and your sister."

"I'm sorry," Graham murmurs.

"You didn't kill her."

"But talking about it isn't helping."

"Actually, it is. Not much, but enough."

Graham nods and takes a sip of his cooling coffee.

"I should probably go," he says after a minute, and Harry meets his eyes.

"You don't have to."

"But I should. Catey said she was going to come by and see you," he adds, "so I might come back. I don't want to be an inconvenience."

"You're never inconvenient," Harry says softly. "Never."

Graham doesn't know what to say, so he nods and grabs his coat from the back of the chair and tugs it on.

"I'll see you later, then," he says, and Harry nods.

"Come by any time," he says, and he walks his son down the hall to the door.

Just as they're about to say an awkward goodbye, there's a knock on the door. Harry looks curiously at his son, who raises his eyebrow again. Harry takes a moment, then opens the door to find a woman on his doorstep.

"Harry Pearce?" she says nervously, and he nods.

"Can I help you?" he says warily.

"I'm looking for Ruth Evershed," she says, and he notices that she's twisting a piece of paper in her fingers.

"Why?"

This time, it's Graham who speaks, and she looks at him, her eyes widening.

"It's rather a long story," she begins slowly, but Harry doesn't budge.

"Is there a short version?" he asks.

"I suppose so," she says, meeting his eyes. "The short version is…"

Graham waits with his father, watching her carefully. She takes a deep breath and tries again.

"The short version is that I adopted her child five years ago."

* * *

**A/N:** So what do you think? Worth continuing?


	2. Paris

**A/N:** Well, thank you for the enthusiasm! Very short update, but hopefully it'll put some minds to rest (and still keep you wondering…). :)

* * *

"What?"

It's taken Harry a minute to figure out what to say, but that's the only word he can get out. Graham is staring blankly at the woman, too. She looks even more uncomfortable.

"Her daughter. My husband and I adopted her five years ago," she says, and Harry just shakes his head.

"She didn't have a child," he says slowly, his voice low. "She didn't. She would have…"

"How did you know her?" Graham asks, his voice sharp.

"We grew up together," the woman says, eyeing him nervously. "Next door neighbors until she went off to uni. My husband and I were living in Paris when I saw her again."

"Paris?" Harry breathes, and Graham senses the growing tension.

"Yes," the woman says. "Paris. We live there. We teach. Why?"

"How did she find you?"

"We'd been writing to each other for a while and then she emailed me and asked if I was still in Paris. I told her yes and where to find us, and then she was there. She was sending her messages through a new address, I know that. I just assumed it had to do with her changing her mind about her old account name or something."

"So she just found you and told you she was pregnant?" Harry says, almost indignant. "That's rather sudden, don't you think?"

"She was scared," the woman says, looking at Harry intensely. "She told me she was in some trouble and that she needed help. I told her we'd do whatever we could. And then she told me she was pregnant. Listen," she adds, "I don't want to force my company on you, but could we not discuss this on your front steps?"

"I think this is the perfect place to discuss it," Graham steps in, "so we'd better finish quickly. Why are you looking for my dad?"

"Ruth was always good about sending a message every month or so to let us know how she was and to check in on her girl. When she didn't contact us a few months ago, I assumed she was busy at work. But now it's been more than two months, and I was… worried."

"Why are you looking for my dad?" Graham repeats.

"Because his name was in the last email Ruth sent," the woman says sharply. "She told me there was only one other person I could contact if something happened. And that was Harry Pearce. So when I didn't hear from her for that long, I decided to try to find you," she adds with a softer glance at Harry.

Graham turns to his father, suddenly aware of his silence. "Dad?"

"Why was I the contact?" Harry whispers.

The woman looks at him and twists the paper in her hands again. "I thought you knew," she says, and he shakes his head.

"Say it," he breathes.

"Because," she says slowly, "you're the father."

* * *

**A/N:** As if anyone else could be the father of Ruth's child! :) More at some point!


	3. Remembering

**A/N:** I'm really thrilled by all the enthusiasm for this story. I'm also very amused because to be perfectly honest, I have no idea what's happening. At all. :)

* * *

Harry stares into the fireplace. He's sent Graham home hours ago, just after the woman left in a cloud of awkward questions. His son had tried asking about the encounter, wondered how his father could say he'd never had a relationship with Ruth and then suddenly had a child with her, so Harry had turned him out, citing his exhaustion and his son's need to go home to his girlfriend. (Yes, he reminds himself, _girlfriend_. Graham is involved in a committed, monogamous relationship with a beautiful and kind-hearted young woman. It's extraordinary.)

So now here he sits, staring at the flames flickering at the wood. And he can't help but wonder how this all happened.

Not the act of sex in and of itself. No, that he knows very well.

"_Goodnight, Harry," she whispers, standing nervously on the doorstep._

_He can see her hands trembling as she grasps her keys and her purse, and he smiles weakly at her._

"_Thank you for letting me take you out," he offers, and she blushes._

"_Thank you for inviting me," she whispers._

_He wants so desperately to kiss her – wants it more than he's ever wanted anything before. But if she has the smallest doubt about them…_

_She tilts toward him just slightly, pulling back almost in the same instant, but he reads it in her eyes and he leans forward to kiss her._

_They both know where it's going before their lips even touch._

_He's going to kiss her and he's not going to be able to stop touching her and kissing her and pushing her up against the door. And he can see that she's not going to push him back if he carries on._

_So when he ends up helping her open her door and nudging her through the doorway, and when she wraps her arms around him and her fingers splay across his back and he's shocked by the warmth spreading from her hands into his bloodstream, they don't need to speak before she locks the door, turns out the light, and leads him up the stairs._

_Afterwards, they're glistening and sighing, and every time they touch it's electric. She curls into his arm and he wraps himself around her, kissing her temple._

"_I know it's too soon," he whispers, "but I love you."_

"_Oh, Harry," she whispers, and she pulls his head in for another deep kiss._

_And despite his age, he feels the desire building again, so he spins her underneath him and starts all over again._

He knows that she enjoyed herself that night, and that the following morning they had repeated the previous night's activities before sneaking (separately) into work, and he also knows that Malcolm is the one who raised the concerns that made her turn him down for a second date.

_They're standing on the roof. He can tell she's uncomfortable, but he won't let her get away with turning him down. Not without an explanation._

"_Malcolm," she says quietly. "He knew."_

"_How?" Harry asks, surprised._

"_Someone talked to Jo, who talked to Adam, who probably mentioned it in passing to Malcolm."_

"_Does it matter?" he asks, and she stares at him. "Ruth, my happiness is more important to me than what other people think. But if you can't be happy while they're gossiping…"_

"_I can't," she whispers. "Harry, I so… I want… I want so much to go out to dinner again. I really do. But I can't bear the thought that they're talking about us. And not just because I'd be the one sleeping with the boss and trying to get ahead. It will have repercussions on you, too."_

"_Did you sleep with me to try to get ahead in your career?" he asks, half afraid that she'll tell him what he doesn't want to hear._

"_Of course not," she says, exasperated. "I slept with you because I've wanted to since I started working here."_

_She blushes bright red, but he doesn't notice because he's too busy paying attention to the backflips his heart is performing in his chest._

"_If your superiors heard about it, though," she adds seriously, "you could be in trouble. Fraternizing with junior staff…"_

"_You're not junior staff," he says immediately. "You're my senior analyst. And I know enough about all of them that I could bury them if they caused trouble."_

"_Harry…"_

"_I'm just saying, Ruth, that if you want it, we could make it work. I promise."_

"_I'll think about it," she says gently. "But if I don't change my mind, I just want you to know that last night… It was the best night of my life."_

"_Mine, too," he admits with a shy smile. A thought suddenly hits him. "Ruth, last night. We didn't… I mean…"_

"_I know," she says quietly. "I'm clean."_

"_So am I," he says quickly. "I've had all the tests. But what about…"_

"_Don't worry," she says, reaching out to brush her fingers over his forearm. "It's not the right time. Nothing will come of it, I promise."_

"_I just want you to be happy," he says. "And healthy."_

"_Thank you. And thank you for last night, too."_

"_You repaid the favor," he says seriously. "A thousand times over."_

_She blushes bright red again before stretching on her toes and pressing a chaste kiss to his lips._

"_I love you," she whispers, and she hurries off the roof, the tips of her ears still strawberry._

_He stares over the skyline and wonders if he can convince her to give him another chance. He's sure he can, and he is invigorated by the thought that she loves him. He clutches the rail and wonders how he can persuade her back into his arms._

There was a second time, not that he'll tell Graham or Catherine about it. It was after Havensworth. He'd been at home, worrying about the outcome, when she'd knocked on his door. Whatever tension they'd felt at the hotel exploded and they'd found themselves slamming doors, toppling onto the floor, and breaking picture frames. In the frantic need for each other's skin, they'd forgotten any form of protection (again), and Harry had awoken with Ruth's arms around him and her eyelashes fluttering on his chest.

They'd separated quietly, painfully, and silently promised not to let it happen again. But then Ruth had touched his arm after Ros' temper explosion and he knew it would happen again and again and again. They were inexplicably and inescapably drawn toward each other, and all Harry had to do was convince her to let them go public.

And then came Cotterdam, and everything fell apart.

So now, as he sits and revisits the memories of his most beautiful encounters with his beloved Ruth, he wonders which encounter was The One. But the more he thinks about those moments – her wrapped around him and screaming his name and him breathing his love into her mouth – the more he wonders why she never told him. How could they share those moments and she keep such vital information from him? Their child. _Their_ child. How could she not tell him?

He's still sitting and wondering when the sun rises the next morning. As the rays hit the window and he's engulfed in light, he makes his decision, and picks up the phone.


	4. Like Mother

**A/N:** Sorry for the delay – back to work, which complicates my life! :) I'm sorry to say there will not be a miraculous recovery, but in its place, please accept the introduction of Baby (well, young child) Pearce.

* * *

He stands outside his car and stares at the door. It's red with a few chips in it, and the mat just in front of it is stained with a thousand muddy footprints. He considers turning around, but he's come too far now to back away.

The woman's name is Alexandra, he now knows. Her husband is Nicholas. They taught English in Paris years ago. They have a healthy income, own a three-bedroom home, and are planning for a new baby.

There was never any official paperwork about adopting Ruth's child, which Harry takes as a strange sign. He wants to ask Alexandra why, but he has a sneaking suspicion that she never anticipated keeping the child forever. Especially now that she has another on the way.

He's been standing and staring for seven minutes and forty-three seconds when the door opens and the woman peers out.

"Mr. Pearce?" she calls, and he returns to the present.

"Alexandra," he says, taking several steps forward and holding out his hand. She takes it and looks curiously at him.

"Can I help you?" she asks, and he can tell she's not sure what to make of him.

"I wanted to ask you some questions," he says. "About… what happened. But if now's a bad time…"

"Nonsense," she says, opening the door wider. "When you called, I wasn't sure you'd actually show. I hoped you would," she adds quietly. "Though I'm still not sure how you found my number."

"Thank you," he says, carefully peeling off his gloves and avoiding the question. He wipes his feet.

"Can I take your coat?"

He hands her his coat and stands awkwardly in the hall. There are pictures everywhere, but none that feature a small child. It's Alexandra and Nicholas around the world, and occasionally with a puppy. He can't help but wonder why there are no pictures of Ruth's child – _his_ child – and he's about to say something when Alexandra returns to his side and points him through to the living room.

Nicholas is reclining on the sofa, watching a small girl playing on the floor. The dog from the hall photos is curled in front of the fire, lazily watching her as well. Harry stares, enraptured, as her face remains hidden from his current angle. Nicholas turns at the sound of his wife's footsteps and stands as he notices Harry.

"This is Harry," Alexandra says, and Nicholas crosses the room to shake his hand.

"Pleasure to meet you," he says, and Harry returns the greeting.

"Emma?" Alexandra calls, and Harry watches as the little girl turns around.

The sight in front of him takes his breath away.

Her hair, which he noticed before, is a dark brown and curls around her face and at the ends, just like his beloved's. And then he sees her eyes – bright, vibrant blue. A living version of her mother's.

And he starts to cry. Silently, but he cries.

"Emma," Alexandra says, kneeling down beside the girl, "this is Harry. He wanted to say hello to you."

Emma hides swiftly behind her adopted mother and peers nervously at the new person as he scrubs his cheeks.

"It's all right," Alexandra says soothingly. "He's a very nice man."

Harry kneels in front of Emma and smiles at her. "Emma? Hi. I'm Harry."

Emma still clutches at Alexandra's sleeve.

"Are you drawing? It looks like you're having a lot of fun."

She nods slowly and edges backwards to grab a piece of paper. Harry can't keep the swell of emotion at bay as she holds it out to him. It's a beautiful (albeit inaccurate) drawing of a horse running in a field. He glances over the pile from which she chose this particular piece and notices that horses are a theme. He can't help but smile.

"Do you like horses?" he asks, and she nods vigorously. "What's your favorite color horse?"

"Black," she says softly, and he smiles and nods.

"Have you drawn a black horse?"

She nods.

"Can I see?"

She nods again and dives into the paper, pulling out a large piece. He's surprised at the evident effort she's put into these drawings. She loves horses and clearly loves drawing as well. He shouldn't be surprised. Isn't, frankly. She's her mother's daughter – unbelievable passion for her work.

"Emma," Nicholas says, "why don't you draw another horse while we talk to Harry?"

Emma nods and sets to work while Nicholas stares pointedly at his wife until she leads Harry into the adjoining kitchen.

"I don't want to discuss this in front of her," Nicholas says, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest. "Who are you? And why are you here now?"

"I'm Harry Pearce," he says quietly, "and I'm her father. And I'm here now because your wife approached me. I had no idea of Emma's existence."

"You expect me to believe that?" Nicholas says, and Alexandra puts a hand on his forearm.

"Nick, please…"

"If I knew about my child," Harry says with a low edge to his voice, "don't you think I would have been in contact with her before now? I wish to God I'd known about her sooner. I wish… I wish her mother had told me about her."

"So what do you want to do?" Nick says, ignoring his wife. "Just take her away from us? Out of this life? We've worked hard to incorporate her into our home…"

"Yet the pictures in your hallway, or lack thereof, suggest otherwise," Harry snaps.

"Nick, please," Alexandra begs, but he charges on.

"We've taken in a child who was not ours and given her a home. She has never wanted for anything. She had contact with her mother, who attempted to maintain a connection with her child even at great personal danger. And now you want in on this little girl's life. Well, I'm sorry," he concludes, all but growling at Harry, "I'm not going to let her go live with some man who claims to be her father. Not after all this time."

Before Alexandra can speak, Harry takes a step forward. Even in his emotionally drained state, he has more power than Nicholas has ever had, and he exerts this power to make the younger man cower against the counter.

"I know I haven't been involved in Emma's life," Harry snarls, "and I wish to God I had. But it was _your wife_ who sought me out and I know I have my share of failings, probably more than you can imagine, but I want to be a part of my daughter's life. I wouldn't dream of ordering you to hand her over when she doesn't even know me, nor would I suggest that you leave her life at all. But I want to know her as my daughter, as my… as _Ruth's_ child."

Nicholas looks uncomfortable and Alexandra finally speaks up.

"Of course you should be involved in her life," she says softly. "I know you've never met her, and I know that now it's… it's impossible to know for certain, but Ruth said you were the father, and I believe her. I couldn't tell you Emma exists without letting you have a chance of getting back in her life. I just… I don't want her to suffer for it. Emotionally or otherwise."

"I wouldn't let that happen," Harry says. "I won't. I've only just met her and I love her with my whole heart."

"Maybe we can start with a few visits to the park?" Alexandra suggests. "See how it goes."

"That sounds wonderful," Harry breathes.

Nicholas keeps glaring at his child's father.

The squeak of the floorboard alerts the adults to the presence of the little one, who's holding a piece of paper tightly in her fist.

"Is everything okay?" Alexandra asks, immediately dropping to her knees and holding out her arms.

Emma nods and looks up at Harry before offering him the paper. "I drew this," she whispers.

He kneels beside Alexandra and smiles.

"What a beautiful horse," he says, and Emma twitches her nose.

"It's a unicorn," she points out, and he lets out a quick, "Oh!" "See?" she adds, pointing to its head. "It has a horn."

"You're right," he nods. "Well, that makes it even more special. A beautiful, pink unicorn."

"I didn't have any glitter," Emma says, sounding quite put out, "or it would have sparkled."

"Well, I like it just the way it is," Harry says, still smiling. He hesitates for just a moment before he asks, "May I keep this one?"

Emma looks suspiciously at him, but after another moment, she nods. He holds the paper tight in his hand and doesn't let go.

"Harry's got to go now," Nicholas says firmly. "Say goodbye, Emma."

"Bye, Harry," she says with a gentle wave of her hand.

"Bye, Emma," he says. He wants desperately to hug her to his chest and kiss her temple and tell her how much he loves her – because he does, as unconditionally as he loved her mother – but he doesn't think Nicholas would like it.

So he waves to her and allows Alexandra to lead him out of the house, handing him his coat on the way.

"I'm sorry about my husband," she says as they stand on the steps. "He was reluctant to take in Emma in the first place, but he's grown so used to her now…"

"Are you worried? Because of the one on the way?"

She stares at him and looks like she wants to punch him, but she resists. "I know you're a spook," she whispers, "but do you have to know everything?"

"When are you due?"

"Seven months. I just told him."

"And you think he's going to push Emma out of his life?"

"No," Alexandra says fiercely. "Just the opposite. I'm worried he's become so attached to Emma that he'll never be able to love our child the same way. And I couldn't bear it."

"So you want to ship her off to a new home to keep your own safe," Harry growls.

"That's not it at all," she says, trying to stay calm and keep her voice down. "But I don't want our child to suffer because of…"

"Mine."

"Please understand. I love Emma, I do. But I want to be free to have my own family as well."

"I understand," Harry says, gathering himself and moving toward his car.

"Harry!"

He turns and watches Alexandra's face twist in sympathy.

"She's lucky," she says. "To have you as a father."

He doesn't say anything, walking slowly and carefully to the car. He gets in and watches Alexandra look around the neighborhood, lost, before returning to her house and her family. When the door closes, he finally puts his head on the wheel.

And he cries.


	5. Explanation

**A/N:** I apologize profusely for the wait on this chapter – I've been working like a madwoman. But now, another little bit. Hopefully this makes sense…

* * *

"You're sure about this?" Graham asks as Harry points at another stack of boxes.

"Absolutely," Harry says firmly. "I've given enough of my life to the service. I have no intention of dying in office."

"I'm not against it," Catherine says, grabbing a lighter box from her brother and carrying it into the living room, "but are you positive?"

"Yes. Erin will take care of everyone for me."

"As long as you're sure," his son says, and Harry smiles.

"I'm sure, Graham. And thank you both for coming to help. I just… It's hard. To go through her things."

"Of course," Catherine says, placing a soothing hand on his arm. "We understand. If we can help at all, we're happy to. Aren't we, Graham?"

"Yeah. Just tell us what to do."

"Well," Harry says slowly, looking over the stacks of her things that litter his house, "if we can just sort everything first… Maybe books on the table and… and… other things in little piles…"

They set to work, each Pearce taking a box and dividing Ruth's possessions into stacks around the room. Graham places her clothing in the kitchen, far from his father's misty eyes, and quietly instructs Catherine to do the same with any jewelry. Harry finds himself stranded in an ocean of pages as he finds box after box of her library. Ancient texts, classics, and the occasional popular novel (When did she have time to read any of this? he wonders) quickly rocket toward the ceiling, and as the piles grow, he finds himself more and more distracted by each book.

It's as Graham removes her boots from a box and Catherine carefully places another file on the floor that he finds it.

_Persuasion_.

The same copy she had that day on the bus…

He starts to cry and while Graham flounders for words, Catherine hugs her father, springs to the kitchen, and turns on the kettle. Within minutes, she's poured him a cup of tea and returned to his side. Graham watches in wonder as she quiets him down, leading him to sit on the sofa and let her and Graham keep working.

Harry's midway through his mug when Graham drags in another box from the hall and pauses in his sorting.

"Dad?"

Harry looks up and realizes his son is holding a folded piece of paper tight in his hand.

"What is it?" he asks quietly, and Graham turns the paper over to show his father his name scrawled in painfully familiar writing.

"It's for you," Graham murmurs, walking it over to his father.

Harry stares at it for another second before he sets down his mug and takes the paper with a quiet thanks to his son. Graham and Catherine share a worried look and sit down across the room from each other, carefully distant from Harry.

He opens the letter with shaking hands.

* * *

_My dear Harry,_

_I've never written a love letter, and I doubt this counts as one. We've been so busy lately and you seem to be burdened with some unmentionable weight. I know Jo's death was a heavy blow, but it wasn't your fault. She made her choice, and as painful as it may be for us, it was the right one. I can't tell if there is another reason for your heartache, unless it is something to do with me, and if it is me, please tell me. I can't bear the thought that I'm causing you to hurt._

_Which is why I have to come clean, Harry._

_Do you remember that night? I don't know why I phrased that as a question – of course you do, unless I have been mistaken about your feelings all this time. That night, those nights were beautiful and emotional and I only wish that, at the time, I had been brave enough to take hold of my life with both hands and go forth with you, my love._

_Because that's it, Harry. I love you. And I always have._

_But to return to the point, that night something beyond our physical connection happened. I don't know how else to say it, so here we go: I was pregnant._

_Was in the sense that I made it to term and delivered a healthy baby, half me, half you. A girl. I named her Emma Kate Pearce. I assumed you wouldn't mind loaning her your name._

_Do you know how beautiful that baby was? Is, I should say – no need to worry, she's still well. She's absolutely gorgeous. And the sweetest temperament I've ever seen._

_And now for my confession, my wonderful Harry._

_I gave Emma up for adoption. Not to just anyone, and certainly not through the official channels. I couldn't risk someone finding us and hurting you because of us. Or, God forbid, hurting _her_ because of _us_. So after I gave birth, I stayed with her for three months. We were in Paris. At the end of those three beautiful, wonderful, but horribly Harry-less months, I came in contact with an old friend from GCHQ. She and her husband were teaching English at the time and I knew I could trust her to take care of our child. Shortly after, I left for Cyprus._

_I can already see the crinkles in your face as you try to understand why I gave up our child and ran away. It's quite simple, Harry darling. Mace and his men were getting too close for comfort. I had complete faith that Malcolm (with whom I was still in contact) would take care of me, but I refused to take any risks with our daughter's life. So I ran away. I was very good at that, wasn't I?_

_In Cyprus, I met George. I was hurting, I missed you and Emma and home, and I fell into his life. Not into his bed, Harry, before you ask. Any sexual connection he and I shared was because I felt obligated to repay him for his kindness. Nico loved me to a certain extent, and I worked hard to make their lives easier. That was why I felt so guilty when George was killed. He had tried to incorporate me into his life and I destroyed it._

_Through all this, I stayed in contact with Alexandra. She told me all about Emma's successes (lifting her head, saying her first word – dada) and even sent me the occasional picture. I never felt safe enough to visit again, and when I came back to work, I made a decision to make my way back into her life. She was three, after all._

_And I wanted to tell you, Harry, I did. But that stupid distance between us – the distance that's always been there and that makes everything so difficult – made me afraid. Afraid you'd reject me, her, us, and turn from us. It was stupid to think you wouldn't want to be in her life, but I was so afraid after spending so many years protecting her…_

_Harry, I love you. I love you so much it hurts. And I only hope that when you read this, you can understand the secrecy and that you'll want to welcome Emma into your life._

_All my heart,_

_Ruth_

* * *

"Five years," Harry whispers to the ceiling. "Five years you kept this from me. And now we find a letter you never sent? Why didn't you tell me, Ruth? Why didn't you mention our child? I would have loved her from the moment you breathed a word of her existence. I already love her more than I thought possible. But why didn't you tell me?"

There's no answer. His bedroom furniture can't suggest its opinions, and the ceiling is no gateway that allows his dead lover to speak to him.

Graham and Catherine are sleeping in the spare room and on the sofa, unwilling to leave their father alone after the discovery. He'd cried over the letter for a good twenty minutes before explaining what it said, and after that, Catherine firmly stated that she and her brother would be staying the night.

So he speaks quietly to the silence and wonders why she never told him.

Timing, that's his only answer. Their timing that was always wrong and painful and terrible. That's the only thing that makes sense. And yet it still doesn't make sense, because how could telling him he had fathered a child with her ever be something that required perfect timing?

He wonders how many times it was on the tip of her tongue, waiting for him to prompt her to say something, anything.

"_Can we postpone our drinks?" he murmurs as he leans over her desk. She blushes._

"_Of course," she says, staring at her computer screen. "Nightingale is far more important."_

"_That's not what I'm saying, Ruth. I just don't want to have another terror attack anytime soon."_

"_I know, Harry," she says, softly this time. "It'll keep."_

Or maybe it was what she really wanted to say in the graveyard, but then he botched the proposal. And he understands how difficult it would be to tell him after he revealed the possibility that Sasha was his son.

He sighs and turns onto his side, staring at the picture frame on his bedside table. Ruth's smiling face, caught mid-Christmas party, twinkles in the twilight, and he keeps staring until he's sure he's memorized her again.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he whispers again. "How could I have felt anything but love?"

He sighs again and shuts his eyes, and when he wakes the next morning, it's with a renewed determination to regain his daughter.


	6. Park Bench

**A/N:** As a thank you for the wonderful reviews, here's a quick little chapter!

* * *

Nicholas is far from happy with his wife's decision, but he can't argue with her in front of Emma, so they all go to the park together with Harry. Alexandra and Nicholas sit on a bench a distance away from Harry, although they both watch him carefully. Emma has no qualms about spending time with the nice man, and so she sits beside him without question.

"How are you?" Harry asks her nervously.

"Good," she says, watching a dog running across the grass. "We learned about the solar system today."

"Oh? What did you learn?"

And she starts to tell him all about the sun and Mars and Neptune and he can't help but smile at her. The way her eyes sparkle reminds him of her mother, and he watches her without really listening.

"Harry?"

He realizes she's stopped talking and she's waiting for him to say something.

"Sorry, Emma," he murmurs. "I was miles away."

"It's okay," she says, turning back toward the park. "Nick and Alex get like that sometimes."

"Your mum and dad?"

"They're not my parents," she explains patiently. "Not really. My mum, she was friends with Alex. But she couldn't take care of me for a while and so Alex and Nick took care of me."

"Is that what they told you?" he asks, and she shakes her head.

"Mummy told me."

"You met your mum?"

"No, she wrote to me. She gave me lots and lots of letters."

"Did she?"

"Yeah. And she told me all about my daddy."

"Did she?" he repeats wonderingly.

"She said he was a good man and that he worked very hard," Emma explains, and he watches as she screws up her face and closes her eyes, working hard to remember exactly what Ruth told her. "She said he was a knight, but not the kind in shining armor, even though he still saved kingdoms and damsels in distress."

She opens her eyes and looks at him again. "What's a damsel?"

He smiles. "A damsel is a woman."

"Oh."

A spaniel leaps up next to the bench at that moment and Emma lets out a surprised squeal as she leans into Harry. He instinctively pulls her closer, putting distance between his child and the dog. The spaniel is gentle and simply licks Emma's shoe, which makes her giggle, before running back to its owner. Although Harry knows logically that the dog was not going to do Emma harm, it takes him a moment to recover and remind himself that his child is safe.

"I want a dog," Emma says suddenly, and Harry raises an eyebrow at her.

"You have a dog," he says.

"No, Alex and Nick have a dog," she says. "I don't like him very much."

"What kind of dog would you want?" he asks, wondering if it would be wrong to try to win her affection with a canine.

"I don't know," she admits. "I just want my own dog."

"What would you name it?"

"Jack," she says without hesitation.

He grins and looks back over the park, his arm still around her shoulders.

"Did you know my mum?"

The question throws him off balance and he ends up just staring at the girl beside him.

"Why would you think that?"

"I heard Nick yelling at Alex," she says quietly, with a glance over to her guardians. "He said you were a… a… I don't know what the word was, but it didn't sound nice."

"It probably wasn't," Harry mutters. "Yes, I… I knew your mum."

"What was she like?"

"She was beautiful," he says honestly. "And so very, very smart. Did you know, she could quote any book she'd ever read to me? And she had a beautiful voice. Sometimes she wouldn't be paying attention and she'd start to sing. It was wonderful."

"How did you know her?"

"I…"

_Worked with her._

_Slept with her._

_Loved her with all my heart._

"…met her at work," he finally says. "I was actually her boss."

"Oh."

They fall silent again.

"Did you know my dad?"

That question stumps him. If he's honest, Alexandra and Nicholas will crucify him for telling her. If he lies, he'll never forgive himself.

"I…"

"Come on, Emma," Nicholas says as he holds out his arms. Harry can't remember seeing him get up, let alone walk over to the bench. "It's time to go home."

She looks reluctantly at Harry, then hops off the bench. As Nicholas takes her hand, Emma turns back to look at her father.

"My birthday party is Saturday," she says, and Nicholas looks as though he wants to tell her off for mentioning the fact. "Can you come?"

"Oh, I don't know," Harry says slowly, watching the younger man shake his head. "I have a lot of work to catch up on."

"Oh," she says, her eyes dropping to the ground. "I understand."

He sees the tears starting to well up, and he can tell she's fighting to keep from crying in front of him, so he makes a quick decision.

"But I bet I could finish everything before Saturday," he says.

Emma's face lights up and Nicholas' goes dark.

"Oh, good!" she says, pulling her hand free and wrapping Harry's knees in a tight hug. "I can't wait!"

"Neither can I," he says, grinning at Nicholas and Alexandra.

He waves goodbye and is suddenly struck by the thought that now he needs to figure out what to give his daughter for her sixth birthday.


	7. Candles

**A/N:** Merry Christmas! :)

* * *

The third child in less than seven seconds zips past Harry as he holds out a wrapped box to Alexandra.

"You didn't have to," she says with the obligatory pause between speaking and taking the gift.

"Of course I did," he says in response.

"We have cake," she offers.

"I'm fine, thank you."

"Coffee?"

"That would be… nice."

He watches the other children while Alexandra puts down the present and fetches him a cup of coffee. It's been a long time since he's been at a child's birthday party, and it seems that Emma has asked every child she knows to come. The parents all mingle in the corners, surreptitiously watching their children while carrying on adult conversation for the first time (for many of them) in years.

"Hi," says a perky blonde woman, and Harry swings around to see who's speaking to him. She's a little plumper than she should be, and her smile is a little too wide, but she seems harmless enough.

"Hi," he says.

"Which one's yours?" she asks, and he stammers to a halt.

"I… I'm… I was a… friend… of Emma's mother," he finally says.

"Oh," she says, looking immediately apologetic. "I'm so sorry. It must be so hard for you. It sounds like it was so sudden."

"You know what happened?" he says, nearly apoplectic.

"Well, Alex and I get coffee every morning and she said she and Nick were probably going to adopt Emma officially now that the mother's out of the picture completely. It's not as though Emma ever knew her, of course, but it would have been easier without her death."

He wants to punch her in the face.

"Which one's yours?" he asks, carefully avoiding her eyes.

"Lucy," she says, pointing at a girl with brown ringlets who's currently traipsing behind Emma, who's clearly popular among her peers.

"Are she and Emma close?"

"Oh, best friends," the woman says with a wave of her hand. "Absolutely inseparable. I'm Valerie, by the way."

"Nice to meet you," he says, and slips away before she can demand his name. Emma catches him out of the corner of her eye and she runs over to him, wrapping her arms around his knees.

"You came!" she says, squeezing tight. He chuckles and kneels down next to her, pulling her into a real hug.

"Of course I did," he says, making sure Alexandra and Nicholas aren't around before pressing a soft kiss to her hair. "You asked me to, didn't you?"

"Thank you," she whispers into his collar.

"I'd do anything for you, Emma," he whispers back, never letting her go.

"Did you get me a dog?"

She asks with such a straight face that Harry finds it impossible not to laugh out loud and shake his head.

"Not this time," he says. "Maybe next year. When you're a bit older."

She almost pouts, but then she remembers her manners and smiles again.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

* * *

"Let me help," Harry says, taking the paper plates and plastic forks from Alexandra's hands.

"Oh, thank you," she sputters, trying to grab what's left of the cake and the milk and the cups by herself. "Did you enjoy yourself?"

"I did," he says, following her to the kitchen where he places the disposable utensils in the bin. "Thank you for letting me come."

"I couldn't very well keep you away," she says bluntly. "Emma would have been heartbroken. And she loved your present, by the way. Barely looked at any other gift for the rest of the party."

"Yes, well…"

He didn't expect the enormous book of fairy tales to be as popular as it was, and especially didn't anticipate his daughter reading aloud to her friends.

"I'm glad she liked it," he finishes lamely.

"She loved it."

They return to the living room and are clearing the last of the table as Nicholas takes down the decorations when Lucy and her mother pop their heads in from the hallway.

"Thanks so much for having us," Valerie says, eyeing Harry warily.

"Of course," Nicholas calls from the window.

"Thank you for coming," Alexandra adds.

Lucy edges into the room and stands beside Emma, who's sitting on the floor, enraptured with her book.

"We should have more parties together," Valerie says before gushing about how sweet little Emma is and how attentive she is and…

_Slap!_

Harry turns around immediately, and his blood hits boiling in half a second. Lucy is standing over Emma, hand outstretched and a horrible child-sized red handprint painting Emma's cheek. Emma, to her credit, does not begin to cry and instead just stares at her guest.

Harry is not so calm.

"Did you just slap her?" he says, charging over to the girl, absolutely fuming.

Lucy stares at him defiantly before reaching down and snatching the book from the hands of a still-shocked Emma. Harry's eyes widen – he knows what she's about to do just before…

_Riiiip._

Lucy's mother is somewhere between horrorstruck and disbelieving.

"You little monster," Harry snarls, ripping the book from her hands. Lucy is still gripping the pages she tore out tight in her fist and before Harry can remove them from her, her mother steps in.

"Lucy, you do _not_ behave this way! Now, give back Emma's pages and apologize."

Lucy doesn't move.

"She'd better apologize for hitting her as well," Harry snaps.

"I'm sure she didn't mean to," Valerie simpers. "She doesn't understand her own strength."

"That wasn't a matter of strength!" Harry shouts. "That's a matter of complete disregard for humanity!"

"Oh, please," Valerie says with a roll of her eyes. Harry takes a menacing step toward her, and she retreats to the hall, her hand on her daughter's arm.

He's about to give her a piece of his mind when a tiny hand on his stops him. He looks down to find Emma looking up at him.

"It's okay," she whispers.

His eyes soften immediately and he nods, but when he looks back at Valerie, his stony expression returns.

"Come on, Lu," Valerie says. "Let's go. Thanks, Alex, Nick."

In all the excitement, Harry's forgotten the couple's existence. He turns around to apologize to them, only to be greeted with their complete shock.

Emma keeps her hand on his and tugs at him gently. He looks back down at her and crouches beside her.

"She hurt my book," she says, holding out the pages. "Can you help me?"

He nods silently and takes the pages and the proffered book. He asks her for some tape and when she returns, he sets about mending his present. He carefully lines the pages and she watches intently as he inserts them back in. When he's done, he does one last inspection before handing it over to his daughter.

"There you go," he says softly, and she smiles at him.

"Will you read to me?" she asks, and he nods. She sits up on the sofa and he joins her.

"What would you like me to read?"

She points to the book.

"Which one?" he asks.

She shrugs.

He opens to a random page and starts to read "The Thirteenth Child." She curls up beside him and leans against his chest as he wraps an arm around her shoulder and holds her close. By the end of the story, she's nearly asleep, and he smiles at her.

"You should go to bed," he says quietly. "You've had an exciting day."

"I'm not tired," she protests with a yawn.

Before he can respond, Alexandra and Nicholas step up next to the sofa.

"Are you staying for dinner?" she asks Harry, and he looks at Emma, whose eyes are closed.

"I don't think I should," he admits. "But thank you."

Nicholas wants to say something, but Alexandra cuts him off.

"Nick and I will get her bed ready," she says. "Can you watch her for a few more minutes?"

"Sure," he murmurs, watching his child. "Take as long as you need."

They leave again, and as the floor above creaks, Emma's eyes open again.

"I'm going to leave soon," Harry tells her with a weak smile. "Thank you for inviting me to your party."

She nods and leans against him again. He's ready to scoop her into his arms and carry her upstairs when she mumbles into his chest, "Do you know who my father is?"

He freezes.

"Emma," he says slowly.

"Alex and Nick won't tell me," she continues. "I want to know."

"Sweetheart, I don't know… that you want to."

"Is he a bad man?"

Harry sighs. "He tries not to be. But sometimes… he's not very nice."

She snuggles closer, her eyes still shut. "Harry, are you my dad?"

If he wanted, he could stall for a few more minutes until Alexandra and Nicholas returned, but he can't find the ability to do it. Instead, he presses a kiss to her hair.

"Yes," he whispers, "I am."

"I thought so," she says simply. "You're so nice. And you sound like you miss my mummy."

"I do," he says, equally simply. "Very much. But you look so much like her, you know that?"

She hums into his chest. "I love you," she says quietly.

"Oh, sweetheart," he whispers, hugging her tight. "I love you, too."

At that moment, the stairs creak and he watches Alexandra and Nicholas return. He shuffles his daughter off of him and lifts her up just long enough to transfer her to Nicholas' arms.

"Remember your promise," she mutters as he starts to carry her upstairs. Harry nods.

"Next year, I promise," he says, and she disappears up the stairs.

Alexandra shows Harry out and thanks him for the gift and his help and apologizes for the fact that he can't spend more time with Emma. He bows out gracefully and goes home to miss the child that, only a short time ago, he never knew he had. When the loneliness hits, he calls Graham, and they talk late into the night.

* * *

After she shows him out, Alex sighs and locks the door. She shuts off the lights downstairs and heads up to say goodnight to the birthday girl.

Emma's pulling herself sleepily under the duvet and Nick is petting her hair.

"Happy birthday, sweetie," he says, and Emma nods her thanks before her head drops to the pillow.

"We love you so much," Alex says, leaning over to kiss her forehead.

As they prepare to leave the room, Emma speaks up from the bed.

"If I make a wish on my candles, will it come true?"

"Of course, sweetheart," Nick says, turning to look at the child buried under layers of blankets.

"What did you wish for?" Alex asks, leaning into her husband's embrace.

"To get to live with my daddy," Emma mutters into the bedding.

The look Nick shoots Alex tells her quite plainly that they're going to be up all night, and not because of anything pleasant.


	8. Children

**A/N:** Sorry it's taken so long to update – life's been mad, and I'm just getting around to reviewing everyone else's stories. Also, can't remember if Catherine has a boyfriend named already, so in case she does and I've forgotten, his name's Mark. :) And apologies for one f-word here.

* * *

"You must understand," Nicholas says, "it's not that we don't trust you. It's just…"

"I understand," Harry says. "If I were in your position, I would feel the same, I assure you."

"You haven't known her for more than two months," Nicholas points out. "I… I… I held her when she was a baby. Alex fed her when she just started teething. You haven't been there for her at all."

Harry's struck by this man's impossible echo of his first wife's words during one of their explosive arguments all those years ago.

"_You're never here, Harry. Catherine started walking today."_

"_Catey learned a million new words and Graham started crawling while you were away. What's your excuse?"_

It stings more than he anticipated – he knew this would be Nicholas' main argument, because it would have been his had their roles been reversed – and the more it settles on his skin, the more it feels like a knife twisting in his chest.

"Don't you think I know that by now?" he whispers. "Don't you think I wish it were different, that Ruth had told me about her, that I'd been there for my own child? I can't go back and change time, Nicholas. The best I can offer is what I have now."

"And what do you have now?"

"An empty house and an open heart," he says simply.

Nicholas stares at him, carefully ignoring Emma's happy laughs carrying across the nearly deserted park. He knows Alexandra is watching her and, even when he can't see them himself, he watches Harry's eyes, which never leave his daughter.

"Why wouldn't Ruth tell you?" Nicholas pushes. "If you two loved each other so much…"

"She didn't want to endanger Emma," Harry says softly. "And our timing was never very good to begin with."

Nicholas sighs. "I so want to tell you to fuck off and leave her alone," he admits, "but I can't. She already loves you. I don't know how she can feel so much so fast, but she does. And it doesn't seem right to keep her from you, no matter how much my head is screaming at me to do just that."

"We could do a trial basis," Harry offers. "She could stay with me for a week, then come back to you, and then we let her decide. Maybe what I have to give isn't what she really wants," he adds sadly.

Nicholas processes the idea and Harry can tell he wants to turn it down immediately, but he feels an obligation to talk to his wife.

"Let me talk to Alex about it," Nicholas says, true to his facial expression. "We'll call you later."

"Sure."

Harry gets up and holds out his hand to the younger man. Nicholas eyes it warily, but does not shake.

"I'll be waiting by the phone," Harry says, then he turns and disappears from the park.

* * *

"Catey, I do want to talk to you, but I'm waiting for a very important phone call."

"Is it about Emma?" she asks gently, and he nods before he remembers she can't see him.

"Yes," he whispers.

"I'll be right over."

* * *

Catherine is curled up on the sofa, wine glass long forgotten on the table, fast asleep. Harry watches her and can't stop a smile from spreading. She looks so much younger when she sleeps, and he's reminded of sleepless nights when the nightmares knocked at her bedroom door and he was the one who battled them away. It was the only time he was really grateful that his job kept him out late – often he'd only just clambered into Jane's bed (it was never _his_ or even _theirs_) when the soft pattering of her feet had him swinging his own back to the floor.

He's still contemplating his children when the phone rings. He answers immediately, both to keep it from waking Catherine and because he's desperate to hear the voice at the other end.

"Yes?"

* * *

Harry leans against the car and taps his fingers on the hood. Again.

"Dad," Catey says, clearly irritated, "would you just stop that? It won't hurry them up."

"Sorry," he says bashfully.

He takes to tapping his own knuckles, and Catherine sighs. She offered to come along as moral support, and because she had a sneaking suspicion that her father's ability to drive might be severely impaired when he allowed his tears to fall. She wonders briefly what Emma will think of having a sister who's so much older. This could have been her child, she thinks. She's at that age…

She and Mark are doing well together. She hasn't told her father explicitly, but they're living together and, recently, the nights she's been spending with her father have been painful because of the separation. Mark understands, of course. He encourages her to keep Harry afloat, even keeps in touch with Graham when she's not physically there.

He's a vast improvement on her usual choice, and it frightens her. It makes her feel like she's preparing to settle down and that scares her more than anything. Her only memories of marriage are tainted and crumbling – her own parents' marriage, all of her friends' parents growing up, now all her friends…

But she and Mark just… _click_. And it scares her to death. She even thinks he's preparing to propose, and she wonders if that's why he keeps making sure that Harry's on an even keel – he'll need to give his blessing on the union if Mark has his way. And thinking that her father has a child who could be her own based on age alone…

Her musings are interrupted by her father suddenly launching himself off the car and immediately slowing himself down, clearly restraining himself from holding open his arms and taking Emma in a warm hug.

It almost makes Catherine jealous, but then she reminds herself that he behaves like this because he saw what he did wrong the first two times around, and she smiles because she understands a little more.

"Just a week," Nicholas reminds Harry, who nods. Alexandra stands on the porch, arms crossed over her chest.

"And remember," Nicholas adds to Emma, who looks thrilled beyond belief, "if you need anything, just call us, all right?"

"Okay," she says, hugging her plush unicorn to her chest.

"Okay," Harry says, crouching beside her. "Are you ready?"

"Yeah," she says, suddenly shy.

"Let me put your rucksack in the boot," he says, and she shrugs out of it, still holding her unicorn.

Nicholas watches carefully as Harry opens the door and helps Emma in, making sure she's safely buckled before he gets in himself.

"Who are you?" Emma says, and Catherine turns around to smile at her.

"I'm Catherine," she says easily. "I'm your big sister."

"Was Ruth your mummy, too?" Emma asks, and Catey feels her father tense beside her.

"Um, no," she admits slowly. "My mum was the woman Dad married a long, long time ago."

"Oh."

"But he's still my dad, too," Catey tries to explain.

"I know," Emma says without a hint of frustration or confusion. "Charlotte's brother doesn't have the same dad. I guess it works for mums, too."

Catherine raises an eyebrow at her father, mouthing "Charlotte?", and he mouths back, "A girl at school."

"It does," he adds to Emma. "Is it all right that Catey spends some time with us? I thought you might like to meet her."

"Sure," Emma says, distracted by the roadside flying by the window. "She's nice."

Harry glances over at his oldest child and catches her smile before she feigns seriousness and starts complaining about the traffic.

* * *

"It's not very much," he admits as Emma clutches his hand and they walk toward the door. "I have a nice big yard, and Catey and Graham have been working on making a room you can use, but…"

"It's pretty," she says, charging forward.

Before they reach the door, it opens to reveal Graham, wiping his hands on a towel.

"Just wanted to get some dishes done," he says to his father before crouching down in front of Emma. "Hi," he adds quickly. "I'm Graham."

"You're my brother," Emma says, looking up at Harry for confirmation, which he gives with a nod.

"I am," Graham agrees. "And I've been waiting a long time to meet you."

He holds out his hand for a shake, but she crashes into him with a hug instead. Catherine chuckles from behind their father, holding the bright pink rucksack in one hand and her keys in the other.

"One big, happy family," she says, and Harry smiles bitterly at her.

"Almost," he says to himself.

* * *

"We're still working on it," he says as Emma inspects the room. "I wasn't sure what colors you liked, but if you don't like the purple…"

"I like it," she says, leading her unicorn around the room. "And the bed is bouncy."

"That's all that matters," Graham mutters to his older sister, who shakes her head.

"And you have fairy lights, too," Catherine says, plugging the strand in and switching off the light.

Emma's mouth drops open and she spins around the hardwood floor, gripping the unicorn's horn tightly, completely enchanted.

"It's beautiful!" she says excitedly, and Harry smiles when she looks at him with those eyes.

* * *

"You going to be okay with her, Dad?" Graham murmurs as Harry strokes Emma's hair.

He's sitting on the sofa and she's collapsed into his lap, unicorn now lying, forgotten, at his feet. She's been running around the house for hours and he's actually quite grateful that she's finally sleeping.

"I think so," he says. "It's been a long time, but I think I can remember how to take care of a child."

"I can stay," Graham offers, and before Harry can argue, Catherine pipes up, "I can stay. Julia misses you, I'm sure."

"I bet Mark misses you, too," Graham points out, and Harry holds out a hand to his children.

"You can both go home," he says, looking back down at Emma. "I'm not going to drop her in my senile old age, and in case you've forgotten, I have dealt with six-year-olds before."

"Dad, we just don't want you to tire yourself out," Graham says slowly, with a cautious look at his sister. "You're… well, you're not as young as you were with us."

"I am wiser, however," he points out.

"Dad," Catherine begins, but Harry cuts her off.

"Catey, Graham, I don't want to say this and make you feel less useful, but having Emma here has made me feel… Well, I feel… lighter, somehow. More energy. I'm ready for anything. I'd still love your help, because I'm sure this feeling won't last too long, but for tonight, I think we'll be okay."

It takes a minute, but finally Catey nods and Graham shrugs with a quirked smile.

"If you need anything," he says, "just call, okay?"

"Of course," Harry concedes.

"It doesn't matter what time it is," Catherine continues, but he shakes his head.

"Go home," he says. "I'll be fine."

They say their goodbyes and leave together, murmuring something about the change in their father as they make their way to the cars.

Harry, meanwhile, stays on the sofa, stroking his daughter's hair.

"I didn't think I could ever love someone this much again," he whispers. "But I love you so much."

She stirs and makes a little whine. He picks her up, making sure to grab the unicorn as well, and carries her upstairs, gently tucking her in and turning off her light.

"Goodnight, my little princess," he whispers.

He goes to bed and finally, _finally_, he sleeps the whole night through.


	9. Father and Daughter

"One more?" Emma asks, and although Harry feels as though his eyeballs are going to drop right out of his head, he can't deny her anything.

"One more," he says, watching her eyelids fluttering as she struggles to stay conscious. "Chapter Eight: In the Attic. _The first night she spent in her attic was a thing Sara never forgot. During its passing she lived through a wild, unchildlike woe of which she never spoke to anyone about her. There was no one who would have understood…_"

He only makes it in a few more pages before he looks up and notices Emma's eyes are shut and her breathing has slowed and deepened. He smiles, reaches over to carefully re-tuck the duvet around her and the unicorn (Byron, he reminds himself with another smile, the unicorn's name is _Byron_). He sets down the book on her nightstand, leans over to kiss her forehead softly, and shuts off the lamp.

When he's sitting on the sofa, his legs stretched out on the table and a small whiskey in his hand, he thinks about the past week. It's Emma's last night to spend with him during the trial period and, when he told her that, she insisted they spend the night playing games and reading and coloring. They'd made it through one game, four sheets of paper, and nearly eight chapters of _A Little Princess_. Any time he spends with her, though, Harry finds himself forgetting he is going to be giving her back.

Graham and Catherine, when they've visited over the week, have bonded effortlessly with their baby sister, and Harry's glad to see that Graham is more attached to her than Catey. He had worried that his son would resent him even more, but it seems all Graham has ever wanted is a baby sister to care for, and they spent most of his visits outside with the football. Catey, meanwhile, has been wonderful about cooking and reading with her sister, though Harry notices the distance in her eyes. He wonders if she judges him for his age and the age of the child. She, after all, has not had her own child yet.

He sighs and downs the amber in his glass in a single swallow. He's been drinking less with Emma around, though whether it's because he's simply exhausted at the end of a day with her or because he genuinely has no need of alcohol with her, he doesn't know.

On nights like tonight, however, when the pain of missing her mother hits him harder, he treats himself to a glass.

He misses Ruth more with every day, and each second he spends with Emma reminds him of the possibilities they had before them all those years ago. Even if she had survived, they had a chance. They could have found Emma again, could have retired to that little cottage she wanted, could have been a family…

No, he reminds himself firmly. Thinking along these lines leads to a blurred account of his alcohol intake, and with Emma, he doesn't want to risk being anything less than acutely aware of his surroundings.

He wonders, for a moment, how the universe found it fair to take Ruth from him before he even knew about Emma, even at all. He can't imagine it would have crossed her mind as she lay dying in his arms to mention Emma – they were too busy trying to pretend she was going to make it, that his hand held magical qualities that would ensure her quick recovery as he pressed it to her and it drowned in blood.

Some nights he still has nightmares about that day. Except now when Sasha stabs Ruth, she cries out and clutches at her stomach and Harry notices that she's pregnant. He watches as she bleeds out, and their child dies with her. Each time he dreams it, he wakes up screaming and crying and praying that Emma is still okay.

He's only dreamed it once while he's been watching his daughter, and that night, he sobbed in his bed for several minutes before gathering himself and tiptoeing down the hall to peer into her room. The moonlight was just enough to show her silhouette, and he waited, breath held, until he could make out the soft rise and fall of her chest.

For the rest of the week, he's been sleeping lightly, afraid of waking her with his screams or of missing her nightmares. Not that she's had any, but he wants to be sure he's there for her.

He shuts his eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath. Tomorrow, when it comes, he is going to be forced to hand his child over to another man and woman, and he can already feel the painful tug in his belly.

* * *

He sits, hands gripping the wheel, refusing to move. If he just drives away, he could make them disappear. No one would be able to find them. They'd be safe. Maybe move to Suffolk…

"Daddy?"

He nods to himself and gets out of the car before helping Emma. She looks confused, but, with her hand safely clinging to his, she follows him to Nicholas and Alexandra's door.

"Are we getting my things?" she asks after he rings the doorbell, and he crouches beside her, doing his best to keep from crying.

"No, sweetheart," he says, the tears coming. "I've got to let you come back to live with Nicholas and Alexandra. Even if it's just for a week," he adds when she tries to interrupt. "We agreed you should spend time with them after me, just to make sure you can make a good decision."

"But I want to live with you," she says, her lip quivering. "You're my dad."

He can't find the words before the door opens and Alexandra lets out a sigh of relief.

"I thought you might not be coming," she says, holding out her arms. "You were later than you said."

Emma sobs and flings herself into Harry's arms, burying her face in his neck. He holds her tight, not even finding it in his spook abilities to look apologetically at Alexandra. Nicholas is behind her in the doorway and he looks confused.

"Emma," Harry murmurs, "don't you want to stay with Alexandra and Nicholas again?"

"No," she says emphatically, refusing to release him. "I want to stay with you."

"Emma," he says again, pushing her gently until she's an arm's length away. "Alexandra and Nicholas are young and happy and they have a dog. And they can keep up with you and you've lived with them for so long, they know what you like and what you don't and I'm only just learning."

"That's okay," she insists, but he shakes his head.

"Listen, I don't want them to take you away from me," he says softly, "but I don't know if I can raise you the way you should be. I don't even know what kind of jam you like," he adds distractedly.

"Strawberry," she says simply.

"Emma, what I'm trying to say is…"

"You don't want me."

"_No_," he says, almost shouts. "I want you very, _very_ much. But what if I'm not a good dad? Nicholas, he's taken care of you. And he can play with you for much longer than I can…"

"I don't care," she says, and he lets the tears fall now.

"Emma, sweetheart," Alexandra tries to interject. "Harry, your dad, maybe he doesn't… doesn't… have the means to take care of you properly. And you like living here, don't you?" she adds, and Harry senses the desperation in her voice.

"You were trying to get me to take responsibility," he says suddenly to the couple. "And now you want her back so desperately. Why?"

"Not having her for a week… it was so hard," Alexandra says, looking back and Nicholas. He doesn't say anything.

"Imagine what it feels like to not have her for five years and then have to give her back to strangers after only a week," Harry says, still crouched down at his daughter's height.

"Emma," Nicholas says suddenly, and she looks up at him. "What do you want?"

She wipes a tear roughly from her cheek. "What?"

"Why do you want to live with Harry?" he says, stepping closer. "And why don't you want to live with us?"

"He's my dad," she says quietly. "And he's slow and he doesn't bake or have a dog and he doesn't know that I really don't like pancakes…"

Harry looks at her, shocked – he's been making pancakes all week, thinking she enjoyed them.

"…but he's my dad. And I love him."

"And why don't you want to live with us?" Nicholas presses gently.

"Because you're not my dad," she whispers.

He nods. "Right. I think that settles it."

Alexandra looks at him, horrified, while Harry keeps looking shocked.

"Nick, what are you doing?" she hisses.

"Alex," he says tiredly, "if Emma doesn't want to live with us, there's nothing we'll be able to do to change her mind. She loves her dad, we'll never be able to live up to that. So why hurt everyone in the process?"

Alexandra wants to argue, but Emma is already hugging Nicholas' knees and sobbing. Harry finally straightens up and looks gratefully at the younger man.

"Nicholas," he begins, but he shakes his head.

"Shut up, Harry," Nicholas says. "This is as much for her as it is for you. Now," he adds, picking up Emma, who's now beaming at him, "let's go get your things gathered up. I suspect you'll want to take your books with you."

As Emma babbles at Nicholas, Harry stares at Alexandra.

"Alexandra," he begins, but she shakes her head.

"Do you have any idea," she whispers, "how difficult it is? To give her up to a complete stranger and never expect to see her again?"

"Yes," he says simply. "I'm not going to force you two to stay away from her. We can stay in contact."

"No we can't," Alexandra says with a hint of bitterness. "She'll forget all about us when she's with you, and Nicholas has clearly already given up. Let's go in," she adds. "Help them pack."

* * *

"Nicholas," Harry begins as Alexandra settles Emma in the car, "really, I don't know what to say."

"She would never have been happy with us again," he points out softly. "Much as I don't like or know you, and as much as I want to keep her here with us forever, I can't. And if she was going to be miserable, I would never have forgiven myself. I guess impending fatherhood makes you really look at your motivations," he adds thoughtfully. "I couldn't fathom doing with my child what we tried to make you do with yours."

"I told Alexandra that you can stay in contact with her," Harry says after a moment. "I would never dream of cutting you out of her life completely."

"I'll keep that in mind," he says diplomatically. "You'd better get going," he adds as Emma looks excitedly out the window. "She wants to go."

Harry nods and starts to walk toward the car, careful to avoid Alexandra.

"And Harry?"

He looks back at Nicholas.

"If you need anything for the adoption paperwork," the younger man says, "just give a ring. Anything you need."

Harry nods gratefully and climbs into the car, taking a moment to breathe once he shuts the door.

"Daddy?"

He turns to see his beautiful daughter grinning at him. He smiles back.

"Let's go home," he whispers, and starts the car.

* * *

**A/N:** Well, that's the end I imagined for this. But I will say that I'm open to convincing to carry on in a different direction… :)


	10. Persephone

**A/N:** I'm so, so, SO sorry for the delay in updating! I've been working practically every day and I'm heading back to school soon, but I wanted to get the next part up. Hope you like it!

* * *

Harry's quiet as he drives. Emma's fallen asleep in her seat, her head lolling to the side as she keeps Byron the unicorn tight in her arms. She's so peaceful when she sleeps, and it always surprises him, possibly because he's been sleeping so little himself.

Now that Emma is all his – the adoption papers went through two weeks ago – he should sleep easier. Nicholas and Alexandra have not attempted to visit, although Nicholas left a message wishing them both well. Emma has neither noticed nor cared that she has not seen them again, too wrapped up in having her real father all to herself.

Catherine and Graham have been visiting more often, and Harry has felt the tugging sensation that suggests healing is taking place. Catherine has even confided in him that she is engaged to Mark, and he was so happy when she told him that he wrapped her in surprise hug and started tearing up.

Graham, meanwhile, is preparing to propose to Julia, and Harry can't remember being happier for his son. She's come over for dinner twice and both times she and Emma were inseparable. He can only hope that his son doesn't propose in the same bonehead manner he did.

Which brings him to his current state of complete heartbreak.

Emma's been asking about her mother more and more, even though Harry's already told her that Ruth is gone. She wants to know eye color, hair texture, height, favorite color, favorite book…

And he can't bear it.

It's hard enough that Emma looks exactly like her mother (except when she's pouting which, Harry admits, is just like his own expression), but having to describe in detail the love of his life… it hurts more than he can stand.

So today, he took his daughter to the graveyard.

She clung tight to his hand and kicked at the grass tufts with her little feet as he led her forward. When they reached the headstone, he crouched beside her and looked her in the eyes.

"This," he said, "is where your mum is now."

And they spent the afternoon talking about how beautiful she was and how kind and how good. Emma had absorbed the information quietly, nodding at the right moments, reaching out to trace the letters when they fell into silence.

_Ruth Evershed_

_Loved by many,_

_Beloved to one_

"Why do you love her?" Emma had asked, and that was when Harry couldn't keep the tears back any longer.

"I love her," he said through painful, gasping sobs, "because she's perfection."

And as he knelt by the grave, ignoring the cold seeping through his trousers where his knees dug into the damp ground and clasping his hands together in front of him as if in prayer, Emma reached out and brushed a tear from his cheek with her tiny hand.

"Don't cry, Daddy," she whispered. "Please, don't cry."

He had wrapped her in his arms and sobbed openly into her shoulder as her arms tightened around his neck. They stood like that for some time, with the wind rustling through the leaves and over the other headstones.

And now here they are, driving home, with Emma fast asleep in the back and Harry contemplating his life in the front.

Some days he wishes she was still here. So that she could see him with their child, see how beautiful Emma is, see what she missed when she rejected his proposal. He wants her to know how wrong she was to take away their chance at being parents, being lovers, being together.

But with every quietly vengeful thought, another tear springs to his eye as he reminds himself that it's not fair. They could never have predicted anything that happened to them.

And at least now he has Emma.

He drives them home in silence, carries his daughter into the house, and prepares to face another day without Ruth.

* * *

"Maybe you should get a dog," Graham suggests as he waits for his tea to cool. "That'll make her happy, and might cheer you up, too."

"A dog can't fix what's broken, Graham," Harry points out quietly. "And anyway, I'm a bit old to get a puppy, aren't I?"

"I didn't say puppy. You could get an older dog."

"She's going to school soon," Harry says. "I'd be taking care of the animal for most of the day."

"Come on," Graham says with a soft grin. "It'll give you something to do. Full retirement doesn't suit you."

Harry smiles and nods, cupping his mug and relishing the heat spreading through his hands. "Fair enough."

Emma bounces down the stairs and quickly gives Graham a hug hello. He smiles at her and points at her plate.

"Eggs?" he says, and she leaps into the chair and devours the food.

"How's Julia?" Harry asks, a sly sparkle in his eyes.

"She's fine. Doesn't know that tonight's the night."

"Tonight?"

"Yeah. Why do you think I came over here?" Graham says. "I'm trying to calm my nerves."

"That's why you suggested I get a…"

Harry pauses and looks pointedly at Emma, warning his son not to mention the d-o-g in front of his little sister.

"That's not why I suggested it," Graham says, "but it was a great way to distract you from asking me personal questions."

"Evading interrogation," Harry smiles. "Well done."

* * *

"What kind of dog do you want?" Harry asks as Emma skips beside him, her hand still tucked in his.

"I don't care," she says honestly. "I just want a dog."

He does a quick figure in his head – if they buy a puppy, it will live for at least a decade, which means he'll be caring for it well into his old age. Well, not so much _old_ age as old_er_ age. But if it makes Emma happy, he thinks as she takes a particularly large leap, he'll do it.

* * *

"What about a little terrier?" he asks, and she shakes her head.

"I want a big dog," she says, stretching her arms out wide to illustrate her point.

"We don't have room for a big dog," he says.

"But puppies are small."

"But they get bigger."

"But we can make space when they get older."

"Emma…"

"I want a fluffy dog," she tells the woman who's helping them find their new family member. "A big, fluffy dog."

"Emma," Harry begins again, and the woman looks sympathetically at him. They both know full well that Emma is going to get her way, but for appearance's sake, they must pretend to debate.

"Emma," he begins again, "you're going to be at school an awful lot. That means I'm going to be taking care of the dog more than you, probably."

"But Daddy…"

And when she looks up at him with those pleading blue eyes, he officially hands in his surrender.

"Okay."

It takes all of six minutes for Emma to find her dog. It's a quiet chocolate Labrador puppy with soulful eyes and as it sees her coming closer, its little tail wags excitedly.

"This is Persephone," the woman tells Harry as Emma bonds indissolubly with the dog. "She just came in not too long ago."

"I can already tell you we're going to be taking her," Harry says with a smile as Emma stares at the dog. "She's perfect."

* * *

When Scarlett passed years ago, Harry got rid of everything dog related in his house. It was, after all, during his very difficult Ruth-less period and the thought of a replacement didn't set well with him.

So now, puppy in tow and a thrilled Emma jabbering at length about how much she loves her dog, Harry finds himself with his arms full of puppy supplies. A new bed, bowls, food… the list goes on.

He had asked Emma on the way home if she minded that the dog wouldn't be named Jack, and she had shrugged.

"It's a dog," she said simply. "That's all I wanted."

Persephone yips happily and matches Emma's energy as they tour the house. Harry leans against the kitchen counter for a few moments, wondering how his life could have changed so much in such a short period of time.

As Emma's laughter bounces off the walls in harmony with Persephone's yips, he smiles.

It's not what he ever could have imagined, but he wouldn't trade it for the world.

* * *

**A/N:** Emma going to school next? What do you think? :)


	11. Timeline

**A/N:** I have a working plot. But you'll have to bear with me a little… :)

* * *

**_24 minutes…_**

He sweeps the floors and judges the hardwood. There are new scuffs from Persephone and Emma's assorted toys, but it doesn't bother him. He does, however, want to make sure that he scrubs everything quite clean.

* * *

_"Oh, no, Persephone!" Emma cries and the puppy looks up at her with huge, heartbreaking eyes._

_"Come on, Emma," Harry says, flinging his jacket on. "We've got to get going."_

_"Persephone…" Emma begins, but her father puts his socked foot right in the puddle._

_He shuts his eyes and cringes as the damp seeps through the fabric. "Oh."_

_Persephone does her best to look embarrassed._

_"Here," Harry says after taking a minute to gather his temper, "I'll take care of this, you go up and finish getting ready. You've got to be there in half an hour and it takes twenty minutes to get there."_

_Emma races out of the room and up the stairs. Persephone keeps looking at Harry, who shakes his head._

_"I'm too old for puppies," he says, peeling off his sock and letting it fall to the floor with a plop. "But damn it if you're not adorable."_

_He crouches and the dog takes it as a sign that they're at peace. She shuffles over and licks his outstretched hand gently._

_"You're a good girl," he says, straightening up and moving toward the kitchen for a rag. "Even if you're not quite trained."_

_Emma bounds down the stairs in record time, her shiny purple bag in hand and a death grip on Byron the unicorn. Harry, who has just finished cleaning up the floor, looks up and gives his daughter a meaningful look._

_"I'm taking Byron," she says firmly._

_"Sweetheart, Byron might want to stay here," he says, and she shakes her head._

_"He wants to come."_

_"Emma, you're going to spend all day meeting new people and making things. You don't want to get Byron covered in glue or biscuits, do you?"_

_She shakes her head._

_"And if you leave him in your bag, he'll be lonely. If you leave him here, he can talk to the other animals, can't he?"_

_She sighs and trudges back upstairs. He follows close behind, intent on getting a new pair of socks. As he passes her room, he hears Emma saying, "It's okay, Byron. You get to stay here and talk to Percival and Max all day. I'll be back later, I promise."_

_New socks on his feet, daughter at his side, and Persephone curled up in her basket, Harry grabs his keys and looks down at his daughter._

_"Are you ready?" he whispers, and she nods._

* * *

**_26 minutes…_**

He scrubs and scrubs at the floor, careful to keep his thoughts from straying toward what he's cleaning up. Persephone is still in her basket, watching him carefully.

"Just don't want any germs to get on Emma," he explains to the puppy. "It's not your fault."

She lets out a yip of understanding.

After he sanitizes the scene of the incident, he stands up and looks around. It's been some time since he's had the house to himself, and he's not accustomed to the quiet. It's unnerving, really.

So he starts to clean.

**_73 minutes…_**

The windows are washed, floors swept, dishes put away, pantry cleaned up, and washing done. He's about to organize his bookshelves when Persephone waddles up to him on her tiny legs and lets out a quiet whine. He grabs the lead and takes her into the yard, breathing deeply as she scours for a location. Once she's finished her business, he finds a ball and throws it across the grass.

Persey, who is far from adventurous or even active, leaps after it, barking happily as she pounces repeatedly on the ball. Harry coos her name and she nudges the ball back to him, her mouth still too small to fetch properly.

They play for a good hour – a fine distraction for Harry, a way to stop remembering this morning.

* * *

_"Are you ready?" he asks as she stares out the window._

_"No," she whispers._

_"You'll have fun," he says, trying to convince himself, too. "Look at all the little girls you can be friends with."_

_"They're all wearing skirts," she says, looking down at her jeans._

_"You'll be able to play more games," he points out._

_"Her hair is in curls," she adds, pointing to another girl._

_"You still have your hair," he says. "Which is a miracle after what I tried to do to it this morning."_

_"I'm scared," Emma admits after a few more minutes._

_"Why?"_

_"What if they don't like me?"_

_"They will," he soothes. "And if they don't, you'll be okay. Persephone and I like you very much."_

_She chews her lip and Harry finds himself falling into that endearing action, reminded vividly of another brunette so long ago who would do the same thing._

_"Can you walk me in?" she whispers, and he nods._

_"I planned on it," he says._

_They walk toward the school hand-in-hand, Harry taking note of the other parents who say goodbye with a quick, meaningless hug and a peck on the cheek. He purposefully seeks out someone who looks like a teacher._

_"Hello," he says, and the blonde woman smiles pleasantly at him._

_"Well, hello," she says, then leans down to introduce herself to Emma. "I'm Miss Kent. Who are you?"_

* * *

**_94 minutes…_**

He settles in a chair and picks up a book he's been meaning to read for ages. Without Emma, he finds himself searching for something to do, and as he's finished the chores, intellectual improvement is his only option. Persephone curls up by his feet as he sets about starting the book.

_Sir Walter Elliot, of Kellynch Hall, in Somersetshire, was a man who, for his own amusement, never took up any book but the Baronetage; there he found occupation for an idle hour, and consolation in a distressed one; there his faculties were roused into admiration and respect, by contemplating the limited remnant of the earliest patents; there any unwelcome sensations, arising from domestic affairs changed naturally into pity and contempt as he turned over the almost endless creations of the last century; and there, if every other leaf were powerless, he could read his own history with an interest which never failed…_

He closes the book. He wants to read it, one last desperate attempt to hold _her_ close to him. But he finds himself distracted beyond his usual preoccupation.

* * *

_"Emma," she says softly, moving into Harry's leg._

_"It's nice to meet you, Emma," Miss Kent says, still smiling as she straightens up to meet Harry's gaze._

_"Harry Pearce," he says seriously, holding out his free hand, which she takes in her softer one._

_"Catherine Kent," she says, her voice melting his defenses. "You're Emma's father?"_

_"Yes," he says, delighted that, for once, he was not immediately labeled the grandfather. "It's her first day," he adds as Emma continues her silence._

_"Well," Miss Catherine Kent says a she returns to Emma's height, "let me show you where you'll be learning and I'll introduce you to some of the other children, all right?"_

_Emma looks nervously up at her father, who nods encouragingly._

_"We'll let your daddy get back to work, okay?" Miss Kent adds, and Emma looks fearfully at him._

_He kneels beside her and wraps her in a tight hug. "I love you so much, Emma," he whispers into her hair. "So very, very much."_

_She hugs him back, burying her nose in his neck._

_When they pull apart, they're both tearing up and Miss Kent smiles gently at them._

_"We'll see you later today," she says, taking Emma's hand. "She'll be fine, I promise," she adds in an undertone to Harry._

_He watches them walk away and wonders if he'll ever have a relationship that doesn't cause him even momentary heartbreak._

* * *

**_Too many minutes…_**

He doesn't know how long it's been since he left Emma. Too long. He taps his fingers on the wheel and stares blankly into the traffic. He wants to magic himself there, beside his daughter, wrapping her in a warm, comforting hug. Instead, he's driving toward her, trying to keep his breathing calm. There's nothing wrong, everything's fine, she's just growing up.

He finally makes it and waits in the car until children start filtering out. Other parents gather their offspring and bundle them away without so much as a proper hug. Harry waits impatiently for Emma.

And then there she is, racing toward him with a grin on her face. He grins right back, catching her in his arms and flinging her up in the air, hugging her tight.

"How was your first day?" he asks, pulling out of the hug just far enough so that he can see her face.

"It was _awesome_!" she says, and he chuckles at the word. "Miss Kent is so nice!"

Harry smiles at the aforementioned teacher as she smiles back a little bashfully.

"Thank you," he says to her, and Emma turns to wave at her teacher.

"She's wonderful," Miss Kent says honestly, crossing her arms over her chest as the breeze kicks up. "And very bright, might I add."

"Dangerously so," Harry agrees, and they smile again.

Emma struggles in his arms for a moment and asks if she can go sit in the car. He nods and watches her clamber inside before locking it and turning back to Miss Kent.

"Thank you," he says quietly. "For helping her."

"She didn't need much help," she says. "She's absolutely brilliant. She did mention," she adds nervously, "that her mum…"

"Yeah," Harry says heavily. "She's… not with us."

"I'm so sorry," Miss Kent hurries to say. "I was just going to say that I was surprised that she was so… composed about it. I didn't expect a child to have such an understanding."

"We've had a lot of long talks about her mum," he says. "She was a… a very special, wonderful woman."

"I'm sorry," Miss Kent repeats, sounding more sincere than her first.

They stand there for a moment before she reaches out and brushes her hand over his forearm. Her fingers linger on his.

"You're a lucky man, having such a great daughter," she says softly.

"Yes," he says, "yes, I am."

The drive home consists of Emma describing her day in detail while Harry tries to think of something other than Miss Kent. Yes, she's significantly younger than he – could she be far past her mid-thirties? – but she's beautiful and her soft eyes are sparkle like…

"Daddy?"

"Hmmm?"

"Did you let Persephone out before you came?"

"Shit."


	12. F-ing Desperate

He doesn't know how it happens, but he's pretty sure it has something to do with him trying to take Emma's latest art project from Miss Kent while she's moving. His hand grazes her breast. Completely on accident.

He blushes and blusters appropriately while she blushes back, sweeter and rosier than he.

"I'm so sorry," he mumbles, but she smiles a little.

"It's all right," she mumbles back. "It's nice to have someone who's not a perv getting a feel."

Her mouth snaps shut instantly and she looks horrified.

"Oh, God. I didn't… I mean, I wasn't implying…"

Before he can open his mouth and make the situation even more awkward, Emma runs up beside him, now having said goodbye to her new friends.

"Daddy, can we go now?"

"Sure," he says, still avoiding Miss Kent's eyes. "Come on."

He's about to drive away when there's a frantic tapping on his window. He finds Miss Kent there, and slowly lowers the window.

"Did we forget something?" he asks cautiously.

"Nothing of Emma's," she admits, glancing back at the child, who stares right back at her. "But I thought you might… want this."

She passes a piece of paper through his fingers and smiles at him, still blushing. He knows instinctively that it's her number, and he doesn't know how to feel. He settles for pleased.

"Thanks," he says, catching her eye this time. "I promise not to use it for homework related emergencies."

She laughs lightly and, after a second's pause, leans in to kiss his cheek.

"Bye, Mr. Pearce," she whispers.

He and Emma don't speak all the way home.

* * *

"Look," he says when he calls her that night, "I'm a mess. I'm not really ready for anything emotional. I've only been taking care of Emma for a few months, and…"

"I know," she says patiently. "And I'm not asking you to propose to me. I just thought… it might do you good to go out, you know? Spend some time with the living."

"I'd need to get someone to watch her," he thinks aloud.

"I'm sure I could find someone if you can't."

"Coffee?"

"I was thinking dinner. Tomorrow night okay?"

"Let me make sure I can have a sitter first."

"I'm really looking forward to it, Mr. Pearce."

"Please," he says, feeling a spring in his heart, "call me Harry."

* * *

"That's quick," Catherine says as he stirs the pasta.

"I didn't expect anything," he admits, crushing the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he strains dinner. "Really."

"What's she like?" she asks.

"Younger than me," he begins, and he can hear her mutter, "What a surprise."

"She's lovely," he continues, pretending not to have heard, "and a teacher, too. You'd like her, I think."

"Is she… Do you think you'll be serious about her?"

"I don't know," he says slowly. "I told her I wasn't ready for anything, but…"

"A man has needs," she says after a minute.

"Oh, Catey, that's so…trite."

"I'll be over around five. Will that do?"

"Of course. And bring Mark if you'd like."

"I will. Love you, Dad."

* * *

"Why are you going to dinner with her?" Emma asks, feeding Persephone a piece of carrot.

"Because she asked me," he says, straightening his tie in the hall mirror.

"Why did she ask you?"

"I don't know, sweetheart."

"Do you like her like Graham likes Julia?"

The doorbell rings at that precise moment and Harry opens it to his daughter and her fiancé.

"Come on in," he says, kissing her on the cheek and offering Mark a handshake. "Thanks for covering on such short notice."

"She must be quite a knockout to get you going out before you've run her through vetting," Catherine says, peeling off her coat and following her father to the kitchen. Emma waves hello and continues picking pieces of her snack out to feed to her dog.

"She's… lovely," he says, and Mark raises an eyebrow.

Harry wants to comment on his future son-in-law's expression, but the doorbell rings again and he races to answer it. Miss Kent (Catherine, he reminds himself) is there in a short black dress, her blonde hair curled smoothly around her face. She looks very pretty – almost beautiful – and he wonders what she sees in him.

"Miss Kent, Catherine, come in," he says, waving her through. "My daughter just got here to watch Emma, so it'll just be a minute."

"Of course," Miss Kent says, following him to the kitchen.

Catherine is pouring milk for her sister, laughing at some story about Persephone and fetch, when they walk in. Mark is the first to react, with a slight double-take and wide eyes. Then Catey sees her, and she freezes.

"Hi," Miss Kent says, holding out her hand. "I'm Catherine Kent. Emma's teacher."

Catey is still silent, so Mark takes the handshake. "Mark West," he says, "Catey's fiancé."

"Another Catherine," Miss Kent says with a smile. "It's nice to meet you."

"You too," Catey says, dropping the milk in front of Emma and returning the carton before motioning her father into the hall. "A word?"

He follows her lead and suddenly finds himself up against the wall, her finger pointed sharply toward his nose.

"What the hell, Dad?" she hisses indignantly. "Think you robbed a young enough cradle?"

"Catey…"

"Jesus Christ, Dad, how old _is_ she?"

"She's thirty-seven," he says quietly, and Catey scoffs loudly. "Age is not a factor in happiness, Catherine."

"It is if you don't want her to be your carer," Catey snaps.

"Watch it," he growls back, the anger rising.

"Have you thought about how Emma feels? You dating her teacher?"

"She doesn't understand the concept."

"She'll figure it out pretty quickly if you two start shagging in the car at school!"

"Catherine Jane Pearce!" he snaps, forgetting momentarily that she bears her mother's surname. "How dare you suggest that! I would never even consider it!"

Though now that she's said it, he's imagining it. Hot and heavy, windows fogged, her hand on his… How long has it been for him? More than four years, he knows. God, that long?

"I can't believe you," Catherine bites out. "Go," she adds, shoving him lightly. "I'll watch your kid while you go get a leg over."

He wants to discipline her, but he reminds himself that she's a grown woman, nearly Miss Kent's age herself, he can't do much to stop her behaving this way.

When he makes it back into the kitchen, Catey's purposefully ignoring Miss Kent while Mark tries desperately to make small talk. Persephone sniffs curiously at Miss Kent's tall red heels, then sneezes and returns to the safety of Emma's chair.

"Are you ready?" Harry asks Miss Kent stiffly. She senses his need to escape the house and nods.

They leave the house in silence. Mark looks at his fiancée and raises his eyebrows again.

"What pheromone does your dad put out?"

"Fucking desperate," Catey snarls, and Emma drops her gaze to the plate.

* * *

"Can I ask a strange and stupid question?" Harry asks over the entrée.

"If it'll make you any more loquacious, yes," she says, clearly put out by his apparent disinterest.

"Why did you ask me to dinner?"

She smiles and takes a sip of wine before reaching out and running her hand over his. "I don't think you realize, Harry Pearce," she whispers, "just how sexy you are."

"You're so young," he says in wonder. "And I'm so… old and… broken."

"And such a good father," she points out, "and sexy with it."

"Catherine…"

"Harry, I'm going to kiss you," she says, in a voice that will brook no refusal. "And if you're half as turned on by me as I am by you, it's going to take a while."

"Cath-"

But he's cut short by her lips on his and he sits in amazement for several moments. It's been so long, and it feels so good to have her so close, to feel her responding to his touch, to know what it's like to be desired again.

So he does the sensible thing and kisses her back.

* * *

**A/N:** I'm so excited about where this is going after this chapter, but it's necessary to prove Harry's human, right? :)


	13. Corpse

"I'm sorry," he says. "I just can't bring myself to have sex with Emma's teacher."

"It's not as though you're trying to get her ahead," Catherine points out, the lace of her bra peeking out from under her disarranged shirt.

"It's still… it's strange."

_And Catey would not approve_, he adds to himself. She's already furious at him for continuing to date the woman, and she's refused to watch Emma again. He's called Graham in desperation repeatedly, and his son only does it, he's sure, because Julia and Emma get on like a house on fire.

"And your daughter doesn't like me," Catherine Kent says. "Come on, Harry. Be an adult. Pursue adult desires."

"I need to get home," he says, standing up and straightening his shirt. "Emma needs help with her reading."

"No she doesn't," she says, reaching out and putting her fingers through the belt loops. "Don't try to lie about her academic abilities to her teacher."

"She's reading something at home," he says. "Having a bit of trouble sounding out the words."

"What is it?"

"_Hamlet_," he says, and there's a bit of honesty in this. They're attempting to read it together at her suggestion – and he has a distinct impression that his daughter suggested it because he mentioned how much her mother liked it.

Catherine laughs. "_Hamlet_? Harry, she's barely six."

"I know. But what Emma wants…"

"You don't have to lie to me," she says. "If you're worried about your performance, you shouldn't be. If your kisses are anything to go by, your technique for deeper penetration is perfect, I'm sure."

He blushes scarlet. "I've got to go," he repeats. "I'll call you?"

"You'd better," she says, stretching out on the sofa and teasing the hem of her short skirt with her fingertips. "I'll just be here. All alone. With just myself for fun."

He leaves before things can go too far.

* * *

On the drive home, he wrestles with himself. He can't keep lying to Catherine about the reasons he doesn't stay the night – he's used up "Emma's sick," "Graham just called," and "Persephone needs to get her claws trimmed." She can tell that he's not being honest with her about the real reason he leaves, and this has prompted a more aggressive attack by her on his already weak defenses. Each date, she has shown up in less and less clothing, and their kissing has extended longer than it should.

She seems to think that he's afraid of disappointing her with his performance. That's not it at all. He knows, quite well, that he could keep her going as long as she wants. After all, when he was making love to Ruth…

And there's the crux of the problem. _Ruth_.

He sighs and swerves around something in the road. "Ruth," he whispers, as if that will solve everything.

The fact of the matter is that he keeps having vivid dreams about the time they spent together. Wild, breathtaking dreams that bring back the details of how soft her skin was, the way her eyes scrunched up and she keened in pleasure as he…

"O, that way," he mutters to himself, "madness lies."

If he wants to return to the land of the living, he knows he needs to get over her death. It's not something optional, it's mandatory for his rebirth.

And when he's away from her, Catherine seems like the perfect vehicle for his return to the land of the living.

But when he's with her, all he can think is how much he misses Ruth, and how desperately he wants her back. Catherine is a substitution, a placebo.

He sighs again and parks the car. Home at last.

* * *

"Harry, I'm starting to get the impression that you don't want me," Catherine says, and he can hear her pouting through the phone.

"It's not that," he says quietly, trying to cut up chicken for Emma. "I just can't tonight. Emma's not feeling well."

Emma looks up from the table, sniffing and stifling a cough, as Persephone whines beside her.

"I'll need a doctor's note for that one," she says, her voice low.

"Really, she's got a temperature and the dog has vomited twice and I'm in over my head," he snaps. "So don't make this about you or me or us. I've got to go," he adds, disgusted. "I have to take care of my child."

Emma is near tears by the time he places the plate in front of her, and he hugs her close to his chest.

"Oh, sweetheart," he whispers, stroking her hair. "I'm sorry I haven't been doing so well lately. I've been a terrible father, haven't I?"

"Yes," Emma whispers back, kissing his cheek. "But I still love you."

* * *

"Emma's finally asleep," Graham says, holding out a mug of tea to his father. "Why aren't you with Catherine the Great?"

"I wanted to take a walk," Harry mutters, and he feels guilty even though it's completely true. He wandered the streets for some time – hours, maybe – in the hope that he would figure something out.

"What do you see in her, Dad?" Graham asks kindly. "I mean, beyond the boobs."

"Graham," Harry warns, but he's smiling. "She's young. And vibrant. And… God, Graham, I'm so lonely."

Now's the moment when he breaks down and sobs onto the kitchen table. His son watches, unsure, and offers him a pat on the shoulder.

"Dad…"

"Do you have any idea what it's like?" Harry chokes out. "To have a few moments with the love of your life, to create a _child_ with her and not know it, then to watch her die in your arms? And then to have that child given back to you – and she looks exactly like her mother? Do you have any idea how difficult this is?"

"Oh, Dad."

"I don't even know what I see in her," he admits suddenly. "She's pretty, but she's not… she's not _Ruth_."

"Dad, maybe you just need to have sex."

"What?"

"Maybe that's all. I mean, I don't want to imagine you doing it, believe me, but maybe that's part of your fear of intimacy. Maybe you've pushed away that… _need_ for so long that you can't… you know… move forward."

"So you're saying I should use her?" Harry says, raising his head to stare at his son.

"The way you've described her," Graham says with a saucy smile, "I doubt she'd think it's using."

"Graham…"

"I'm just saying that maybe you need a little…release."

"Maybe."

* * *

"Is Emma with her brother?" Catherine asks from the doorstep.

Harry nods and holds out his hands to take her coat. "She is. Is that… all right?"

"Better than you can imagine," she whispers, and sheds her coat.

Is he horrified or delighted? There's nearly nothing on her, and he should feel some level of disgust with himself, but he can't.

"Champagne?" he asks, leading her into the living room.

"That would be lovely," she says, running her hand over the shirt buttons.

He returns a short time later to find her carefully inspecting the photographs lining his bookshelves. He had forgotten that she's never been in this part of the house – just the kitchen on the rare occasion she's met him here.

"Who's that?" she asks, pointing to the picture he knew she'd find.

"Ruth," he says quietly, setting down her glass. "Emma's mother."

"Oh."

That's thrown her a curveball, but she's going to push forward, he can tell.

"She's… lovely."

"Beautiful," he corrects automatically.

"Emma looks just like her. It must be hard," she adds, keeping a thoughtful eye on him, "to have a constant reminder."

"It's wonderful," he says honestly. "As painful as it is to not have her mother, at least I have some part of her in Emma."

"So Ruth was your second wife?" she asks.

"Yes," he says without thinking. "Yes, she was."

* * *

He's sucking on her neck when the phone rings. He moans and moves to get off of her, but she holds him down and reaches for it herself. He wants to tell her no, but then her hand moves lower than the waistband of his jeans and he forgets it.

"Harry Pearce's house," she says cheerfully as he buries his face in her stomach.

"_Who's this?"_

"Catherine…"

"_Oh, Catherine, hi. Listen, is Harry there?"_

"He is. Do you want to speak to him?"

"_No, no, he's probably busy. Just… Do you think it would be all right if I came by? Tomorrow, maybe?"_

"I suppose so."

"_All right. Thank you, Catey. And say hello to your father."_

The call ends and Catherine stares blankly at the phone. Why a woman was calling for Harry this late at night is beyond her, and being called Catey by a complete stranger – and passing along messages to her father from the same stranger – is absolutely bizarre.

Harry lifts his head and looks curiously at her, stroking her side thoughtfully.

"Is everything okay?" he asks, concerned.

"Yeah," she says, setting down the phone and pulling him back up for another kiss.

He pulls back quickly.

"I… I don't think I can do this," he says.

"Harry," she growls, "you can't keep doing this. It's not nice to tease a lady."

"I'm sorry. I just realized what day it is."

He knows it sounds tacky, and he knows she won't like it – which she doesn't – but it's true.

"I'm sorry, I thought you just said you couldn't do anything because of _what day it is_."

"Yeah," he says.

He knows she wants him to elaborate, but he can't. It hit him when she pulled him into another kiss. The day. The beautiful, glorious day. The day they made Emma.

And here he is with another woman on his sofa, preparing to have sex with her.

He can't do it, won't do it. Catherine is less than thrilled.

"Listen," she says as she pulls her blouse closed and combs her hair with her fingers, "how about you call me when you've figured out this part of your midlife crisis? I want you, Harry, I do. But if you're not going to give me anything more than a kiss and a cuddle, I can't keep going."

As she pulls on her shoes and walks out, he asks her.

"What is it about me that you want?"

"Everything," she says, leaning on the door for a moment. "You ooze charm and charisma and you know how to treat a woman. And you're a good father, whatever you may think. And the dedication to that Ruth woman is romantic. But you're _alive_, Harry. You're with the living, but you're acting like you're the dead one. And I can't make love to a corpse."

She walks out and he shuts the door before he realizes he didn't call her a cab. But he doesn't care. He calls Graham and Julia and asks them to bring Emma home.

Tonight, he needs his daughter.


	14. Moving On

"Coming, coming," Harry grumbles as he walks down the hall. "Who the bloody hell would be here this early?"

He opens the door with a snarl and almost feels bad when he finds Erin on the other side.

"Sorry, Harry. Did I wake you?"

"Yes," he admits, running a hand through his hair. "Emma didn't sleep well last night."

"Sorry," she repeats. "I called yesterday to say I was coming."

"I never got the message," he says slowly.

"Oh. Well, I'm here now," she says, and he steps back to let her inside.

"Why are you here, by the way?" he asks, shutting the door and guiding her into the kitchen.

"I had some news," she says, holding out a file. "And I wanted to tell you myself."

"What kind of news?"

"Towers is out, as you know, and the new PM is an absolute shithead," Erin says matter-of-factly.

"So?"

"So," she says, holding out the paperwork, "Towers gave this to me at our last meeting."

Harry flips through the file quickly, and narrows his eyes, trying to keep from crying.

"Why are you showing me this?" he asks, and she shrugs.

"I thought you should see it."

"It's her death certificate," he says, the ache tightening in his chest. "I saw that already. And the autopsy report."

"I just thought you should see it," Erin repeats mysteriously.

"What do you want me to see in it, Erin?" he says exhaustedly.

She doesn't speak – her mobile rings instead and after a brief conversation with Dimitri, she makes her apologies and leaves the house. She never tells him what he's supposed to see.

He puts the files into a desk drawer and doesn't give them another thought.

* * *

"Bloody hell," he mutters as he moves down the hall. "Why does everyone want to visit today?"

He swings the door open and finds Catherine Kent standing there, holding loosely onto a bottle.

"Hello," she says, looking boldly into his eyes.

"Hi," he says, not inviting her in. "What's going on?"

"Can I come in?" she asks. "I think we need to talk."

"Emma's asleep."

"I'll be quiet."

"I have to check on her."

"That's fine. I'll wait."

He hesitates for another second before he steps back and she walks in. He notices she keeps her coat on, which gives him a small sense of foreboding, but he ignores it.

"I'll be right back."

He runs upstairs and makes sure Emma is safely tucked into her sheets, Byron squished in her arms. He closes the door and hurries into the kitchen to grab a bottle opener and two glasses. He enters the living room to find Catherine sitting comfortably on the sofa, the bottle on the table beside her.

"It's a red," she says when he opens it. "I hope you like it."

"It looks lovely," he says.

He pours them each a glass – his smaller than hers – and sits in the chair opposite her, watching her carefully.

"What do we need to talk about?" he asks, taking a sip.

"Us, Harry."

She looks down at the glass for another moment before she continues.

"I realized I must have been coming on a little strong. I… I haven't had a date with anyone since my divorce was finalized a few months ago. My husband… my ex, I should say, said I wasn't bold enough. That's why he went with his secretary. Very forward little tart. Anyway," she says, taking a deep breath, "I thought you were attractive from the moment you brought Emma to school and I knew I'd regret it if I let you go. So I tried to be more forward, tried to be bold. It didn't work out so well, I guess."

He looks down at his hands.

"Anyway," she says, setting the glass down and looking closely at him, "I just wanted to apologize if I came off as demanding and aggressive and… well, a bit of a tart."

"There's nothing to apologize for," he says soothingly. "I'm just sorry I couldn't… I didn't behave like a gentleman."

"Nonsense," she mutters. "You've been a perfect gentleman the whole time."

They sit for several moments, completely still, watching each other.

"I should go," she says, standing up.

"Stay," he says at the same time.

She looks nervously at him.

"Harry…"

"I mean it," he whispers. "Stay."

* * *

She's stretched out on the sofa, whispering into his ear as he sucks on her neck. His hands are busy working at her blouse, curling into her hair, pushing them forward. Hers, meanwhile, are dancing across his chest, over the front of his jeans, caressing his cheek when he occasionally brings his face back to hers.

They are going to do this. Tonight is their night. He is going to take the first step toward recovery.

And then there's a cry from upstairs and he leaps off of her immediately, making his apologies as he runs to check on Emma.

While he's gone, Catherine decides to speed things along. She removes her blouse and shimmies out of her skirt, leaving them draped on the back of the sofa. She adjusts her bra and runs her fingers through her hair. She's ready for him.

And then, as she's positioning herself on the sofa in her most alluring pose, the doorbell rings.

"Harry?" she calls, and his muffled voice says something about getting it for him.

She sighs and stands up, not even bothering to put on her clothes – they'll be coming off soon anyway, and maybe the sight of a nearly naked woman will make whoever it is go away sooner.

She walks to the door and opens it.

"Can I help you?" she says, popping her hip out a little more and looking as annoyed as possible.

The figure on the doorstep wavers.

"I'm so sorry, I must have the wrong house."

Before Catherine can say anything more, Harry comes tumbling down the stairs with a hurried apology for not being there.

He stops dead in front of the door.

Catherine looks between Harry and the woman hiding in the shadows. And then it hits her.

"Ruth," Harry whispers.


	15. Expletive Warning

Ruth stares at Catherine and her silence moves Harry from his tangle of emotions about her back to the woman he was going to bed.

"Jesus, what happened to your clothes?" he says, eyes wide.

"I didn't think we needed clothes at this point," Catherine says, eyes narrow.

"I better leave," Ruth says, turning around.

"No!"

His shout rings out across the steps and echoes off the neighborhood. She pauses for a moment.

"Don't leave," he whispers. "Please."

When she still hasn't moved, he takes the second to turn to Catherine.

"I think you'd better go," he murmurs.

"Just like that, Harry? The woman who pretended to be dead for nearly a year shows up and you want to take her back, no questions asked?"

"Yes."

She stares at him and her nose curls up in a sneer. "God, you're pathetic."

She stalks off into the living room to pull on her clothes while he stays at the door, staring at his lover's back.

"Ruth," he whispers. "You're…"

"I'll come back tomorrow," she says with relative firmness, taking a step forward.

"We need to talk now, Ruth."

"It looked like you were busy. Or about to be."

"Come inside, Ruth."

"I shouldn't, Harry."

"Ruth…"

"It's been _lovely_," Catherine snarls as she walks out the door. "Can't wait for next time, Harry."

Once she's disappeared down the walk and into her car, Ruth turns around. Harry's heart breaks to see the streaks of tears running down her cheeks.

"Ruth," he begins, but she shakes her head.

"I wanted you to be able to move on, Harry," she whispers, "but I didn't think you really would. I guess that was my naivety."

Something bubbles up in his chest, but he ignores it and gestures for her to come inside. She hesitates for another second before nodding and joining him in the hallway.

"Come sit down," he says, pointing to the sofa. "Please."

She sits down and watches him carefully as he pours a small glass of whiskey with shaking hands. She half expects him to down it himself, but he offers it to her, hand still trembling.

She takes it and doesn't mention the wine that's sitting on the table.

He sits down opposite her and stares openly, taking in every detail of her longer hair and the faint gauntness around her cheekbones and her coat pulled tight around her middle. She looks smaller than before, and he wonders if that's something to do with being dead. Or "dead," as the case may be.

"How are you, Harry?" she murmurs after a long time, and he meets her eyes.

"How do you think?"

"Well enough to share wine with a… a woman."

That feeling in his chest is returning, and he thinks he knows what it is now, but he pushes it back down.

"You're alive," he says.

"Yes."

"How?"

"It's a very long story."

"I think I deserve to hear it."

"I don't know if you want to, Harry."

"Trust me, I want to."

She sighs and sets down the glass. "I want you to know right now that I had no say in the matter. I had no idea, really."

He waits and waits.

"I woke up in a private hospital somewhere… somewhere far away."

"I saw your body," he says quietly. "I saw your dead body."

"My real body," she says, "but injected with some horrible drug. I don't know what it was, I was unconscious when they injected me. Towers told me later."

"Towers?" he snaps.

"He didn't plan anything."

"But he knew you were alive."

"They used an experimental drug on me. Something meant for the military. He had no idea if it would work."

"Clearly it did."

"Clearly."

"Why didn't he tell me?"

"What was he supposed to say, Harry? I've been in a coma for three months and only just recovered enough to ask where you were," she says, her voice getting harsher. "Was he supposed to tell you that there might be a slim chance I would survive and then watch you break down as I died for a second time?"

"Yes," he says without hesitation. "I would have been by your side no matter how small the chance of your recovery was."

They stare at each other for several seconds before he speaks again.

"Why did it take you so long to find me?"

"I was under close watch," she says, "and I couldn't remember much for a long time. They weren't sure my brain would even function because it had gone without oxygen for some time."

"But you're fine."

"Yes."

"And you never thought to let me know before you showed up on my doorstep?"

That emotion again, and he knows exactly what it is – anger. Pure and simple.

"I never thought you'd have moved on so quickly," she snaps back.

He's surprised to see her so aggressive, but a distant part of him understands why she's speaking the way she is. Distantly, he relates. Distantly, he sympathizes.

Currently, he's furious.

"I never thought you would have hidden our child from me!"

The words come out louder than he expected and the look of shock on her face is immediate.

"What?" she breathes.

"Alexandra came here," he continues, his voice still raised. "When I was with Graham. She came here and asked for you. And then she told me that I was the father of your child."

"Oh my God."

"Yes, my reaction was somewhat similar to that. How could you not tell me, Ruth? She was five fucking years old!"

He doesn't mean to curse, but it comes out just like the few tears trickling down his cheeks.

"You've seen her?" Ruth whispers.

"For five years, you didn't tell me you gave birth to my child," he says, his voice lower now, and colder. "Five fucking years, Ruth. If you had told me, even hinted, I would have found you and kept you safe. I would have done anything in my power to take care of you. But you didn't. You hid like a fucking coward!"

"That's exactly why I never told you, Harry. You would have compromised your job, your emotional distance from your work…"

Her voice is growing louder over his progressively more violent sighs and growls.

"I couldn't let you give up what I'd disappeared to save."

"_I was compromised the second you left!"_ he bellows. _"That very second you turned around and stopped looking at me, I was done!"_

His chest is heaving and she looks torn between being furious at his behavior and moved by the thought. He takes a deep breath and runs his hand over his hair.

"And you left her with a couple you barely knew," he continues, "to raise her. She's been raised by complete strangers her whole life, Ruth."

"I wrote to her…"

"Writing to your child doesn't fill that void!" he yells again.

"You would know!"

They both stop, shocked that she's said it. They stare at each other for several more seconds before he shakes his head, his jaw tight.

"I think you'd better go," he says. "We're not going to say anything now that's not hurtful."

"Harry…"

"Please, Ruth. Just… just go."

She bites back a response and walks into the hallway, pausing as her hand rests on the handle. He wants to ask why she hasn't left yet when he hears it. Soft footsteps on the stairs.

He looks over and sees Emma, clinging tight to Byron and staring at her mother.

"Oh my God," Ruth whispers, staring at her daughter. "Emma…"

"No," Harry says, stepping in front of his daughter and blocking her mother. "No. You don't get to talk to her. Not after everything we've been through. Not yet."

"Harry, please," she breathes, tearing up again. "Don't take her from me. Please."

"No," he says again, but his defenses are crumbling. After all this, she is still the love of his life and the mother of his child. He cannot deny her for very long.

"Let me just see her," Ruth begs. "I just have to see her."

He is moved by her desperation, and he edges aside, still watching Ruth as she moves closer to Emma.

"Oh, Emma," she whispers, and Emma hugs Byron tighter. "You're so big…"

She chokes and turns quickly to go through the door.

"Ruth."

She doesn't turn around, but does pause as he leans against the doorframe.

"We need to talk. Later. When we're not…"

"Emotionally compromised."

"We'll always be that," he murmurs. "But maybe when we're not… tired."

She nods and hurries away into the night. He shuts the door and locks it, leaning into the wood before sliding down to the floor. He drops his head to his knees and sobs, letting himself fall into whirlpool of his emotions. He's breathless and destroyed and wonderstruck.

A small hand reaches out and rests on his neck. He looks up to find Emma's face right beside him.

"Daddy?" she whispers, and he takes her in his arms, holding her tight.

"I love you so much," he whispers into her hair. "So, so much."

She nods and drops her head to his shoulder. He can feel her tears, small and hot and heartbreaking, running down his neck.

"We're going to be okay," he whispers. "I promise."

* * *

**A/N:** I just want to say that I really had no intention of bringing Ruth back – I really didn't. Harry was just going to figure out he didn't want Kent and then he and Emma would have been happy without a mother. But thanks to the eternal hoping of theoofoof, I had to give in. And yes, Ruth was supposed to be the phone call, but then Erin wanted in… :) More soonish!


	16. Questions

**A/N:** Wow! Quite a response for the last chapter! Thank you for all the comments - I hope this doesn't feel rushed, but I had to get us out of the angry angst land quickly. :)

* * *

He waits for her to approach him on the bench and refuses to look at her.

"How did you find us?" he asks, keeping his eye on Emma as she runs around the grass with Persephone.

"Give me some credit, Harry," she whispers, watching her daughter. "I was a spook for a few years, after all."

"I looked at your death certificate," he says after a minute. "And the autopsy report. Erin brought them by and said I should look at them, so I did. It _was_ a experimental drug for the military…"

"How did you find that in the papers?"

"A simple coding system," he says. "I missed it in the… in the heat of the moment. Pretty basic, really."

"Do you know why they chose me?" she asks warily.

"I think it was Towers' decision," he says. "I expect it was his attempt to thank me for all my work with him. I just wish he had told me."

"Is that why he was pushed out?"

"Unofficially, I'm sure it was."

They sit for a few more minutes, not speaking, while Persephone barks and leaps with a giggling Emma.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asks quietly, his words painted with pain.

"How could I?" she whispers back. "Her safety was my main priority. You can't imagine how much I wanted to tell you. To have us all back together, safe and sound. Assuming you wanted her, of course."

"But you let her go."

"To keep her safe. I doctored birth certificates to remove any trace of myself. I checked myself out of the hospital before I should have. I did all that I could to remove myself from her in the hope that, one day, we could find each other again."

"Why didn't you…?"

"Have an abortion? Oh, Harry, how could I have even considered it? As soon as the test came back positive, I loved her with my whole heart."

"Yet you gave her up and then turned to George."

He winces at his own words, and he knows she's cringing, but he had to say it.

"When I gave her to Alex and Nick," she says slowly, "I gave up any right to her. And I knew that. And I hoped that, in giving up that right, I could trade my life for hers. I'd done it once already for someone I loved. _Love._"

He notices the change in tense, but he won't let her break him again.

"Why did you find someone else?"

"I never loved George like I love… But he was safe, Harry. I was on the run and I'd just given up my only child fathered by the man I… It was nice to have a sanctuary. That's why I felt so guilty. I used him. Blatantly. And I lived."

"And you never thought to tell me about her when you came back?"

"How would you propose I had done that?" she snaps suddenly, turning to stare at him. "_Oh, hello Harry. It's my first day on the Grid, and I thought I should probably tell you – I had your baby and she's living with some friends of mine right now._"

"You know you could have said it at any point and I would have gone to the ends of the earth."

"I know, Harry," she sighs. "That's what you don't seem to understand. I couldn't expect you to still be willing to go to the ends of the earth for me. And I didn't want to be the woman who demanded too much of you. I couldn't bear to have you resent me."

"I was always willing," he says.

"I am sorry I never told you. Really, I am. I wish I could have been brave and told you. But I was never the brave one," she adds thoughtfully. "You were always brave."

"You're the bravest person I've ever known," he murmurs into the wind.

They continue sitting on the bench, contemplating blades of grass and heartache. Finally, Harry stands, lead in hand.

"I still don't think it's a good time for you to come back into Emma's life," he says slowly. She nods, clearly hurt. "She's been told that you're dead, we went to your grave, we… we talk about you all the time. And I think she's just… confused. About what's happened."

"I understand," Ruth whispers. "I never expected to see her again, but this is so much more painful."

"I'm sorry. I want to forgive you and make up, Ruth, but… it's so hard," he says finally. "To forgive someone who's held your heart for so long and crushed it."

"I'm so sorry, Harry. For everything."

He nods and walks toward his daughter, gathering her in his arms and walking Persephone home. She looks over her father's shoulder and stares at the woman on the bench as she dabs at her eyes.

* * *

"She's alive?" Catherine says as Harry pours her a coffee. "That's impossible."

"That's what I thought," he says, setting the mug down. "Until I saw her and spoke with her and… when she looked at Emma…"

"You let her meet Emma?"

"She is her mother, Catey."

"But the poor kid must be so confused."

"She is. But we're… we're talking about it. She had just come to grips with the idea of never meeting her mother and then this happens."

"You still love her."

"She's my other daughter. Why wouldn't I?"

"I'm not talking about Emma and you know it."

"Of course I still love her," he murmurs, holding his coffee and sucking up all the warmth it can offer. "I never stopped."

"Except when you wanted to sleep with Emma's teacher."

"I never did," he points out. "I couldn't do it."

"But you thought about it."

"Of course I did. I wanted to, on some level. But she could never replace Ruth."

"Maybe you need to tell Ruth that."

"I don't want to talk to her for long periods of time," he admits. "I'm afraid I'm going to get mad again and she'll leave me for good. And maybe take Emma with her."

"I doubt she'd get custody even if she tried."

"I don't have the best track record either."

"Dad, she'd never fight you if you wanted to keep her away. But you don't, do you?"

"Of course not," he breathes. "Now that she's here, I want her with us every minute."

Catherine smiles and sets down her mug. "You'd better tell her that."

* * *

He's watching the news when the knock comes. He's sure he knows who it is, but he opens the door slowly anyway.

"Is she asleep?" Ruth asks, and he nods. "Can we talk?"

He waves her inside and they find their familiar places on the sofa and in the chair.

"Have you asked all the questions you wanted to?" she asks him, and he nods slowly.

"I think so."

"Can I ask a few myself?"

He tenses momentarily, and she knows he wants to say no, but he nods again. "Of course."

"How long did you wait until you slept with her?"

His blood boils. "What?"

"How long? I'm not trying to judge you," she adds, "but I want to know."

"I didn't," he says.

"Harry, the woman was all but naked and answering your door. While our daughter was upstairs, might I add."

"I didn't sleep with her," he says, louder this time.

"It's okay, Harry. You thought I was dead. I would want you to move on, but I just wanted to know."

"And I'm telling you, it didn't happen. I thought it would last night," he admits, "but it would have been the first time."

He's standing by his story, so she moves on. "How long have you known her?"

"She's Emma's teacher," he says slowly. "We went out to dinner shortly after we met."

"Oh."

"I needed human contact, Ruth. I never… I had no intentions of pushing a relationship forward. But it had been so long, I couldn't resist forever."

"But you didn't…"

"No."

She nods and falls silent, watching her knees.

"Do you know," he says after several seconds, "how hard it is to recover when the woman you've loved for the better part of a decade is dead and you have a child you never knew existed? That's why nothing happened. I couldn't do it."

"From what I recall," she says with a slight smile, "you did it quite well. And repeatedly."

She's teased a smile out of him and he meets her eyes. "With you, Ruth. And after you, there's been no one."

"Harry…"

"Miss Kent and I had some long kisses, and that's as far as it went. I promise."

"How long of kisses?"

"Long enough for her to try to undress me and for me to remember that I hadn't fed a cat."

She smiles a little again.

"Why didn't you try to forget about me?"

"I did," he says, almost frustrated. "I tried so hard – everyone told me you would have wanted me to move on – but I couldn't. And especially not when Emma was your spitting image."

"She's not," Ruth argues demurely.

"She is, right down to the freckles on her shoulder."

"You remember?" she whispers.

"Oh, Ruth," he whispers, "I remember everything about you."

She swallows hard and he realizes that they're about to stray into uncharted waters. He's half tempted to let it go and see what happens, but the other half of him thinks they need to take it slowly.

"I should go," she whispers, reading his mind again.

He doesn't challenge her decision, but every inch of him is screaming for him to stop her.

They reach the door and she turns to say goodbye and before he can stop himself, he leans down and kisses her deeply. She falls against the door, her hands immediately going up to his face, pulling him closer. His body is pressing against hers – it's so familiar and so beautiful – and she doesn't push him back. She takes everything he offers.

He's half afraid they're going to wind up naked in the hallway and is coming around to the idea when she pulls back, eyes bright and lips bruised.

"I never slept with her," he whispers, his breath dusting her face. "How could I, when I've loved you the whole time?"

"I love you so much," she whispers back, and they lean in for a shorter, sweeter kiss.

"I'm not ready to go further," he says after some time. "I'm sorry, but…"

"Neither am I, Harry."

"Oh."

"Maybe… someday. Someday we can figure out what we're doing."

"Yes," he agrees. "Someday."

She smiles at him and walks out the door. He shuts it, locks it, and leans against it.

Persephone waddles up to him and nudges his leg with her nose. He smiles and pets her.

"Come on, Persey," he says quietly, "let's go check on Emma."


	17. Needs

**A/N:** Again, I'm sorry if this feels rushed, but I want them to move forward a little… And, as always, thank you so much for your continued support! :)

* * *

Harry's running around the house trying to find everything Emma needs for school when the doorbell rings. He groans and points to her bowl.

"Eat it," he says, and she continues staring at, and not touching, her breakfast. He sighs and runs down the hall as the bell rings again.

"I'm bloody coming," he mutters, swinging open the door.

Ruth looks nervously at him. "Hi," she says, taking in his flustered state. "I shouldn't have come."

"Nonsense," he says, dragging her inside. "Just… I'm trying to deal with an obstinate child and a puppy and I'm a bit out of sorts right now."

"Can I help at all?"

He pauses. He wants to tell her to convince Emma to eat something, but he also knows that they haven't really introduced mother and daughter. At this moment, though, he's willing to let it play out as it will.

"Can you get Emma to eat something? Anything, really. Toast, an apple, a spoonful of butter, I don't care. Just something."

"Are you sure?" Ruth asks, clearly nervous. "I could get her things together."

"I know where everything is, it'll be faster for me to do it."

"Okay…"

"Please, Ruth?"

She nods and walks into the kitchen, holding her breath until she sees Emma sitting at the table, Persephone sitting at her feet.

Harry runs upstairs to find shoes and wonders if he's done the right thing. He loves Ruth with all his heart – and always will – but should he have talked to Emma before throwing them together? He doesn't know, doesn't have time to think – they have to leave in less than twenty minutes and the child is inflexible.

"Hi," Ruth says nervously, watching Emma watching her.

"Hi," Emma whispers, staring at her mother.

"Your dad said you were getting ready for school. Have you eaten?"

Emma looks pointedly at her still-full bowl. Ruth nods.

"Right. Do you want something else?"

"No."

"Maybe a piece of toast?"

"No, thank you."

"Well," Ruth says, trying to think of how to convince her child to eat, "I'm going to have a piece."

She places the bread in the toaster and watches it for a minute before turning back around.

"Are you my mum?" Emma asks, staring at her.

Ruth hesitates. Truth or dare, the lying game… She decides to be honest. "Yes."

"I thought you were dead."

"Everyone did," Ruth says slowly. "So did I."

"But you're not."

"No."

"How?"

"Well," Ruth says, sitting down across from her daughter, "a very bad man was trying to hurt your dad, and he hurt me instead. I fell asleep for a long time, and while I was asleep, someone gave me some medicine that made me feel better."

"But Daddy said you were dead."

"The doctors didn't tell him they'd given me the medicine. They didn't want him to be too hopeful because they didn't know if it would work."

"Why didn't you find us sooner?" Emma asks, still staring. "Daddy's been so sad."

"I know, and I feel so bad for that. I tried to find you as soon as I could, I really did. But it takes a long time to find someone when you don't know where they could be."

Emma is about to ask something else when the toast pops up and Ruth starts to spread butter on it.

"May I… May I have some?"

She smiles, still facing away from her daughter, and nods. "Sure."

When Harry finally stumbles into the kitchen, his own shoes half on and Emma's in his hand, he stops and stares. His daughter is eating a piece of toast as Ruth tells her a story. He keeps watching as Emma laughs and smiles and Persephone sits next to Ruth, happily wagging her tail as she's being petted. He doesn't even know what the story is about – just that Emma is enjoying it and that Ruth is back together with her child.

He's brought back to reality when he glances over at the clock and sees they have five minutes before they absolutely must leave and he walks further into the room to inform Emma. She swallows the last of her toast and, as she puts on her shoes, she says, "Thanks, Mummy."

Ruth looks over at Harry, shocked, and he looks back at her, surprised but pleased.

Emma runs back upstairs to find the coat her father forgot while the adults continue staring at each other.

"I didn't ask her to call me that," Ruth says quickly.

"I'm glad she did."

A familiar and almost comforting silence falls over them. Harry speaks up again.

"Where are you staying?"

"Oh, I have a place," she says vaguely, and he narrows his eyes.

"Ruth…"

"It's a safe house," she says, "but it's fine."

"You're living in a safe house?" he repeats, clearly indignant.

"Where else could I be, Harry? I'm supposed to be dead."

"Move in with us."

He says it before he thinks about it, and as soon as the words are out, he knows one of them is going to say not to do it. And judging by the expression on Ruth's face, it's going to be her.

"No, Harry, I couldn't."

"You're Emma's mother," he points out, trying to save face (and maybe meaning what he's saying). "And before… we had agreed to it. So why not?"

At this point, he's actually thinking that it was a pretty clever thing to say. He'll love her no matter what comes between them, and just sleeping for the whole night through last night has cleared his mind enough that he's positive he still wants her in every aspect of his life.

"Harry, I couldn't…"

"Please, Ruth. I can sleep on the sofa if that's what's bothering you."

"No, Harry, really…"

"Daddy! We're going to be late!"

He looks at Ruth again. "Come with us. We can talk on the way back."

Ruth tries to come up with some reason not to go, but Emma waves hurriedly at her. "Come on, Mum!"

* * *

"I really can't," she whispers as they drive back.

"Ruth, I want you to be able to spend time with Emma. I really do. And more than that, _I_ want to be able to spend time with_ you_."

The radio plays into the silence – some young man singing a meaningful love song – and Ruth looks over at Harry again.

"I want to, Harry, I do. But I don't want to make any of this… awkward."

"It won't be," he assures her. "Emma needs her mother. And I need you."

* * *

He leaves Ruth at home with Persephone when it's time to pick Emma up. She's moving her things into the house and watching the puppy, and he wants to give her time to get accustomed to the house without making her nervous.

When Emma comes over to him, she looks upset.

"Everything okay?" he asks, and she just tugs him toward the car.

"Please, Daddy," she whispers. "Let's go."

They ride home in silence, though he has a sneaking suspicion that this has something to do with Miss Kent's rejected advances. Emma races past him into the house and immediately takes Persephone in to the yard, throwing the ball and avoiding her father.

Ruth smiles at him as he enters the kitchen. "Everything okay?" she asks when he looks seriously out the window.

"I think something happened at school, but she doesn't want to talk about it."

"She'll tell you when she's ready," Ruth says knowingly.

He nods and looks down at the table, where she's laid out her small collection of laundry.

"I saved all your books," he says, gesturing at the bookshelves in the living room. "They're in there, if you want them."

"Thank you," she says, smiling at him again. She folds a pair of jeans.

"I'll take you out shopping," he says suddenly. "Tomorrow after we drop off Emma."

"No, Harry, we really don't need to go."

"I didn't keep most of your clothes," he points out. "Your jewelry is upstairs, and I saved your books, but I couldn't bear to keep your clothes. And you clearly need more," he adds, looking at the tiny, neat stacks on the table.

"I'm fine."

"Please, Ruth. Let me."

She blushes and doesn't respond. Emma comes trampling inside, Persey following close behind with muddy pawprints.

"Wipe your feet, please," Harry reminds his daughter.

"Sorry," she mumbles, turning around and kicking off her shoes. She disappears quickly up the stairs, and he sighs as Persephone yips and follows.

"She'll tell you when she's ready," Ruth says gently.

"I know." He watches her for another minute before he adds, "What would you like for dinner?"

"What?"

"I can make pasta, or we could all go out."

"No, Harry, really…"

"Do you want to eat in or go out?"

"In, I think," she says. "I don't want to make Emma uncomfortable."

"She wouldn't be. I'll start something then, shall I?"

Dinner is a relatively quiet affair. Ruth and Harry are busy dancing around each other and their emotions, clearly thrown by their new intimacy of living together. Emma, meanwhile, is still silent about her day at school. Only Persey makes any noise, and is quickly silenced by Harry's offering of a bowl of food.

Emma finally goes to bed with a quiet goodnight to Ruth and a kiss on the cheek to Harry. The adults watch her go up and turn back to each other.

"I'll sleep down here tonight," Harry offers, and Ruth shakes her head.

"It's fine, I will."

"No. I don't mind."

"Harry…"

"Take the bed, Ruth."

"Can't we share it?"

She blushes scarlet immediately afterwards, and Harry can feel himself starting to react. He wills himself not to, thinking of anything but Ruth in his bed.

"I just meant…"

"I know what you meant, Ruth. Do you… Would you be comfortable with that?"

"Yes…"

"It's a large bed, so we have plenty of room. For ourselves," he adds quickly, but he knows the damage is done. "We can just take sides."

"Can I use your shower?" she asks quickly, but that doesn't do anything to stop his maddeningly arousing images.

"Sure."

* * *

He lies in bed waiting for her. The door is locked, the alarm is on, Persey is asleep, Emma is tucked in, all the mundane aspects of going to sleep are taken care of.

And soon Ruth will be joining him in his bed.

He shuts his eyes.

"Don't think of that," he mutters. "Nothing's going to happen."

She comes out of the bathroom and looks nervously at him. He tries not to stare at her bare legs – she's wearing a pair of his shorts and his oversized shirt – but he can't help it.

"I might take you up on that offer," she says after a minute.

"What offer?"

"Going shopping tomorrow. If it still stands."

"Of course it does. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable…"

"No," she blushes, "it's not you. I just… I don't want to have to keep stealing your clothes."

"Steal away."

She climbs in on the other side and they lie, stiff and impersonal, for several minutes.

"Goodnight," he says, turning off the lamp.

"Goodnight," she echoes, turning on her side.

He stares at the black ceiling for a long time afterwards, wondering just how they've come this far in such a short time, and wondering if they can make it this time.

When he wakes the next morning, she's wrapped in his arms and breathing deeply against his chest.

He doesn't complain. Not one bit.


	18. Wait

He watches her until the sunlight is stretching across them and her eyes flutter against him. They're fully clothed and only touching in the most innocent way, but he still feels the beginnings of arousal just from her proximity.

Logically, he knows that they can't do anything right now. And he can't honestly predict when he'll be ready emotionally to give himself up to her again. That being the case, he's sure that she's even less ready and it'll take them another five years to find their way back. It's not that he wants to impose this distance between them, but it's so hard. He forgave her for George long ago, and he'll forgive her for Emma soon, but when it's all lined up and neatly presented to him, it hurts.

She shifts in his arms and sighs, her hand still pressed over his heart.

He should probably wake her, but he can't bear the thought of disturbing her. He continues watching her for several more minutes and is about to close his own eyes again when the door creaks open and Emma peers inside.

"Daddy?" she whispers.

"Sweetheart," he whispers back over Ruth's hair. "What's wrong?"

"Are we going to leave for school soon?"

He glances at the clock – they're running behind as usual, but he's in no rush this morning. He smiles at his daughter.

"I'll fix you breakfast and then we'll go, okay?"

"We don't have to," she says quickly, and he raises one eyebrow.

"You want to tell me what's going on?"

Ruth moves again and her arms go around him, pulling him closer.

"Not right now," Emma says, shaking her head. "May I have toast?"

"Sure," he says, starting to disentangle himself from his love. "Just get ready and I'll be right down."

She nods and bounds toward her room as he looks down at the woman in his bed. Her hair has gone curly from her shower and it's splayed across the pillow. The shirt he loaned her has ridden up and he has a fine view of her stomach – a little rounder than when he last saw her like this, but nothing will make her any less beautiful. In fact, he thinks as he traces the swell with his eyes, it makes her even more incredible, knowing that his child was there.

Her eyes flutter again and he watches as they open. He can't remember seeing that shade of blue before, and immediately he feels himself relaxing. She looks momentarily worried, then she smiles at him and his heart melts.

"Good morning," she says, her voice still rough.

"Good morning," he says, resisting the urge to kiss her.

She looks at the clock and her eyes widen. "Emma's going to be late."

"No, she'll be fine. I'm going to make her breakfast and take her to school," he says, leaving the bed reluctantly, "and then I'll be back and we'll go shopping."

"I think you just wrote a scene for a mother's favorite porno," she says before blushing bright red and squeezing her eyes shut.

_Don't think about porn, don't think about porn, don't think…_

"You should go back to sleep," he says, trying to keep his mantra running and his body under control.

Before she can say anything to embarrass them further, he darts into the bathroom.

* * *

"I can go in," Emma says, trying to escape her father's presence.

"No," he says calmly, "I'm walking you in. What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Emma…"

"Miss Kent wasn't very happy about something," she says quietly. "But it's fine."

He crouches beside her and grabs her shoulders firmly. "Emma, did she do something to you? Hurt you in any way?"

"No," Emma says, avoiding her father's eyes.

"What did she do to you?"

She tries to pull away, but he holds steady. "Emma, please. Tell me what's wrong."

"She's just being mean," she says softly. "And I can't read any of my books anymore."

"What?"

"She said I lost my reading privileges."

It takes a minute to process this, mainly because he would never have thought of that as a punishment for a child, but then, he reminds himself, Emma is not a normal child.

"I'll have a word with her," he says, standing up and taking her hand.

"No, Daddy…"

"Emma Pearce," he says, looking down at her, "in our family, we don't put up with mean people."

* * *

When he returns home, Ruth is sitting at the kitchen table, still in his shirt and shorts. Persephone is sitting happily at her side and barks when she sees him. He smiles and pets the dog before sitting down in the chair beside Ruth.

"Everything all right at school?" Ruth asks, watching his face.

"Miss Kent was giving her a hard time," he says quietly. "I think she'll be okay."

She's silent for a minute before she looks up at him nervously. "Harry, can you answer me one more question?"

He nods, knowing where this is going.

"Why her?"

"Because she was there," he admits. "She was there and interested. Nothing more, Ruth. It wasn't as though we had meaningful conversations or that I loved her. I was lonely and she was there."

"I hoped you'd say that," she whispers. "That's why… that was George. It just makes me feel better that you didn't…"

"I could never love her, Ruth," he says firmly. "Never. Because I…"

_Don't say it, don't say it, not yet, it's not the right time…_

"I love you, Ruth. And I always have and I always will. Even when you're being completely irrational and insane and when you hide wildly important things from me and when you yell at me and even when I'm driven so mad by your refusal to give us a chance that I briefly consider quitting just to get away from it all."

_Shit. That's not what you were supposed to say._

She looks shocked and confused and he wants to take it all back, but he really doesn't because it's true. So he lets it sit between them, heavy in the air, and waits for her to say something.

"Can we just forget everything that's happened?"

He didn't expect that one, so he looks up and stares.

"Can we just… erase the past?"

"I don't know," he says, still watching her.

She nods. After a few minutes, he speaks up again.

"If you want to get dressed, I'll take you out. We'll find you some clothes."

She smiles weakly and nods again, standing and revealing her slender legs. He forces himself to breathe.

* * *

"Dad, that's fantastic!" Graham says, and Catherine repeats her brother shortly after.

"We can't just forget our past," he points out, staring at the blouses in front of him as he talks to his children. "There's too much history there."

"Dad," Graham says, exasperated, "the woman you love who also happens to be the mother of your child has come back from the dead and clearly wants to have a working relationship with you, and you say no? Are you completely insane?"

"And anyway," Catherine adds, "wasn't that exactly what she told you when you proposed? That you had too much history?"

He shuts his mouth and tries to think. _We couldn't be more together_… Is that what he's trying to tell her now?

"I've got to go," he says, ending the call and staring blankly at the blouses.

Can he look past everything like he had once wished she would? He shakes his head and is about to start searching for her when she calls, "What do you think, Harry?"

He looks over and sees her there, in jeans and a white shirt, looking absolutely beautiful. And he thinks, for once, that they can actually put everything away and be happy.

* * *

"Ruth," he says on the way home, "I'm not ready to… to do anything right now…"

"It's okay, Harry, I understand."

"No, hear me out. I'm not ready for anything right now, but I want us to be able to move past our history. I… I want you to be in my life, and especially in Emma's, but I think it will just take time to become… anything more. Is that okay?"

She smiles at him and nods, looking out the window. "More than," she says softly.

He hears her, and his heart sings.

* * *

Emma doesn't say anything about school, but she looks mildly happier and Harry takes it as a good sign. She goes to bed early, Persey close on her heels, and Harry and Ruth stay downstairs watching the news.

Ruth starts to drift off, her head leaning toward Harry's shoulder, and he doesn't stop her. He wants her to fall asleep next to him, desperately, just so that he can remember how warm and wonderful she feels.

As she drops her cheek to his shoulder, she sighs happily and shuts her eyes. "I love you," she whispers.

His world changes.

He doesn't know why he was trying to keep her away, he doesn't know why he thought he could deny her, he doesn't know why this moment is what tips the scales, but he knows that he's ready to love her with his whole heart all over again.

And if he's being honest, she could break his heart all over again and he would never stop loving her.

He turns his head and he captures her lips in his. She doesn't react at first, but then she moves into him, her hand coming to rest on his neck and gently pull him closer. He wraps his arms around her, wishing he could just pull her onto his lap and kiss her senseless.

She reads his mind, as usual, and pulls back just far enough to allow herself to straddle him, kissing him with all the feeling she can muster.

He doesn't know how long they've been sitting here, just relearning each other, but he does know that it's him who suggests going upstairs, it's him who lifts her up, and it's him who doesn't stop touching her until she's lying across the bed and he's trying to pull off his shirt.

He kneels over her, gently tugging at her top, pulling it over her head, throwing it on top of his. She doesn't stop him, just lets her fingers run over his chest like she did all those years ago. He shivers under her touch and leans in to kiss her deeply.

They both know where this is going, and they both know it's going to take more than an unspoken promise to work through their problems first to stop them.

He pushes her back into the pillows, groaning at the feel of her chest against his, the electricity of her fingertips on his neck, the soft whispers of love she offers into his ear.

If they had made it four more seconds, their vow of chastity would have disappeared.

But the bedroom door opens before they lose any more clothing and they both turn to stare. Emma looks nervously at them.

"Sweetheart," Harry says, "what's wrong?"

"I had a nightmare," she whispers.

"Come on up," Ruth says, patting the bed beside them. "Your dad just needs to change," she adds, nodding at him. He disappears into the bathroom to get himself under control while Ruth pulls on a shirt and helps Emma into the bed.

"Are you and Daddy okay?" Emma asks, and Ruth blushes.

"We're fine," she says, running her hand over her daughter's hair. "We were just talking."

"I'm glad you're here," Emma whispers, leaning into her mother's arms and closing her eyes. "He's happier now."

Ruth smiles and presses a kiss to her hair. Emma falls asleep within minutes and Harry returns, more controlled than before.

"She's asleep," Ruth whispers, and Harry gently moves his daughter out of her mother's arms and onto the pillows. "I'm sorry…"

"It's not your fault," he says with a smile. "And it's not as though she did it on purpose. I'm sorry I rushed us. We'll get there," he adds confidently.

"I know," she says, looking at their daughter.

"You can go change," he says. "I'll watch her."

When Ruth comes back, wrapped in his shirt again, Harry's asleep, one arm curved protectively around his daughter. She smiles and slides under the sheets on the other side of the bed. She presses one last kiss to Emma's forehead before stretching over and dropping a whisper of a kiss on Harry's lips.

"I love you," she whispers to both of them.

They sleep through the night.

* * *

**A/N:** I have to say that I'm starting up classes again today, so I'm not sure when the next chapter will be up. Hopefully soon! :)


	19. The One Where It Finally Happens

**A/N:** I'm sorry for the wait – finally have a little time, so here it is. And as a warning, this has a section that is VERY M RATED just for you, HR always live on. :)

* * *

It would have been fine if Emma hadn't come out of the school in tears, because when she did, Ruth noticed immediately and before Harry could stop her, she had leapt out of the car and charged forward.

Which is why he's currently running after her, Emma's hand tight in his.

By the time they catch up with her, she's found Miss Kent and is preparing to say something. Harry reaches out and grabs her hand.

"Ruth, please…"

"How dare you," Ruth snarls, and Harry doesn't know what to think. On the one hand, she's absolutely terrifying, and on the other, he's wildly aroused by her protective streak.

"Excuse, who are you?" Miss Kent asks, then sees Harry and she goes pale.

"I'm the mother of his child," Ruth says, and Harry decides. Yep, he's very much aroused.

"Oh, right. The mother who 'died,'" Miss Kent says, waving her fingers around. "Do you even know how much damage you've done to your daughter?"

"Clearly not as much as you, since I don't believe I've ever made her cry." Miss Kent starts to say something more, but Ruth holds out a hand. "I just want you to know that if you ever again make my daughter upset, I will find you and you will wish you'd never met any of us. Do you understand?"

"Are you threatening me?" Miss Kent hisses.

"Yes," Ruth says bluntly. "So stay away from my family."

She reaches down, grabs Emma's hand, and marches straight back to the car. Harry hangs back for a minute and raises an eyebrow at Miss Kent, who's trembling.

"I warned you," he says, voice low, "when I spoke with you. If you come anywhere near my family again, I will make sure you regret it. And just think, now there's an angry mother as well. You'd best stay away from Emma."

He walks away and gets in the car, only to find Ruth looking very embarrassed.

"What's wrong?" he asks as they start home.

"I think I went a little over the top," she admits sheepishly.

"I thought you were brilliant," he murmurs, and she blushes again.

"Thanks, Mum," Emma says softly from behind her.

Ruth smiles slightly and they go home in silence.

* * *

"Are you sure you don't mind?" Harry asks, and Graham raises an eyebrow.

"Dad, Julia loves Emma and you need time alone. It's not a problem. Really."

"Graham…"

"Dad, just go."

Graham smiles cheekily at his father, and Harry can't help but smile back. He nods and returns to the living room, where Ruth and Julia are chatting about something and Emma is reading quietly to herself. Ruth looks up instinctively and smiles at Harry, who smiles back at her.

"Come on," he says, "let's leave the kids alone."

"Are you sure you don't mind?" she asks Julia, and the younger woman waves her hand.

"Until Graham and I have our own, I'm happy to be a babysitter," she says, and Graham blushes in the doorway.

"And how soon will that be?" Ruth asks with a grin.

Graham clears his throat. "At least until after we're married. Now, don't you two have a reservation to make?"

* * *

Dinner is perfection. The food is delicious, the wine is flowing, and the way they keep looking at each other, they have a suspicion of where this night is headed.

"Dessert?" he asks softly, and she shakes her head.

"I'd rather take a walk," she admits, and he nods.

He pays the bill, helps her with her coat, and they go for a walk along the Embankment. It's their old haunt, and he can't help but reach over and take her hand. She twists their fingers together and they walk in silence, hands warmed by each other.

"Harry?" she whispers after a moment, and he turns to look at her, the moonlight mingling with the streetlights to illuminate her.

"Ruth."

"I love you," she whispers. "And I always have. And I'm so sorry about not telling you about Emma. I wanted you to know, I did, and I should have told you, and I'm s-"

His lips swallow the rest of her apology, and she doesn't complain. They stand, locked in an embrace, for several minutes, ignorant of the others walking by them. When they finally pull apart, Harry looks sheepishly at her.

"I've booked a hotel room," he says to his feet, and she blushes with him.

"Have you? That's far beyond presumptuous."

"After our last…"

"Near miss?"

"I thought we should be prepared," he says, nodding. "But if you don't want to, I don't want to pressure you. It's… it's all up to you, Ruth."

She remembers, briefly, another time and another place where she was also in control of his happiness, when she crushed his dreams and refused to let them become anything more than the occasional comfort shag – which was always more than a comfort shag, but that's what she filed it under in her mind. And as she thinks about the past, she realizes they really do need to move on and she needs to make the right decision this time.

She forgets that he's standing there waiting for her answer, and it's only when he shuffles his feet that she looks up at him.

"Sorry, it was a stupid suggestion," he mutters, turning around and motioning toward the street. "I'm sorry…"

"Yes."

"What?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, I want you. And I want to go to there with you. And I want you to make love to me all night long. And I want us to be together. And I don't ever want to let you go, Harry Pearce."

And as she pulls him down for another kiss, he has a feeling they might make it this time.

* * *

It's surprisingly slow for their first time in years. To be fair, they've already done the fast and hard, so he's ready to take his time with her this time. And it's been so long, he has to keep reminding himself to slow down and not give in too soon. So they close the door, still kissing, and he nudges her up against the door just so he can hold her still while he kisses along her jaw and down her neck and over her breastbone, carefully peeling her blouse away all the while.

She's moaning under his hands and lips, reaching limply for his shirt, but he brushes her hands away. He already knows he'll enjoy his part just by being inside her later, so he wants to focus on her. He licks and teases across the swells of he breasts, gently reaching behind her to remove her bra and throw it haphazardly into the room. She sighs as he licks her nipples, one by one, then returns to each, slower this time, as one of his hands massages the other.

What he really wants to do is reach under her skirt, but he's forcing himself to go slow. He knows he can make her come just like this (he did once before), and he wants to reacquaint himself with her body.

It only takes a few more minutes of licking and sucking and nipping and squeezing and nibbling before she shakes in his arms and breathes his name into the impersonal room. He smiles and leads her forward, pressing her down to sit on the bed. She's barely moving, her eyes already a little foggy, and he takes the opportunity to kneel in front of her and remove her shoes.

His hands slide up her legs until he finds the suspenders. He wants to groan, but he simply tugs the stockings off, moving to kiss her bare foot once they're removed. He even sucks on her toes briefly, earning a wild groan.

He slides his hands up again, this time taking a path along the outside of her skirt and slowly tugging the material down.

"Oh my God, Harry," she breathes as his fingers brush over her bare skin.

He doesn't speak, just pulls the skirt away and smiles at her black lace knickers. He should have known she would plan for this. He leans in and kisses the fabric – he can smell her arousal as she moans again.

Carefully, he slips his fingers under the material and, with a gentle nudge, encourages her to lift her hips. She does, and soon her knickers join her skirt on the floor beside him. She's completely naked, sitting in front of him on the edge of the bed, and he wants her so badly it hurts. He must focus on her, though.

He leans toward her again and breathes her in, nudging her center with the tip of his nose. She cries out and falls backward on to the bed, her legs spreading unconsciously. He smiles and opens his mouth, touching her softly with his tongue. She lets out a strangled cry and he begins to work faster. He kisses her core with all the reverence he has for every part of her body, and then he licks her, flicking her clitoris quickly, then slowly, then reaching up with his fingers and brushing against her opening. She looks like she's about to explode.

Slowly, he enters her with his fingers, his tongue still caressing her. She lets out a sharp gasp as he moves inside her, hitting all the spots he thought he'd forget. She writhes on the bed, her feet somehow managing to touch his shoulders and blindly trying to pull him closer. He holds her in orgasmic purgatory for a few more moments before he sucks her clitoris hard and curls his fingers inside her simultaneously.

Her cries are so loud he worries about the neighbors reporting a murder, but he doesn't really care all that much. He keeps lapping at her, moving carefully to extend her orgasm as long as possible. When she finally comes back, he pulls away slowly, moving up the bed to hold her in his arms as she reaches out blindly for him.

"God, I missed you," she whispers, wrapping her bare legs around him.

"I missed you, too," he breathes, and is about to suggest she go to sleep when she reaches between them and brushes his erection through his pants.

"Please," she whispers.

She helps him undress, although in her current state of post-orgasmic bliss, she really doesn't help all that much. Instead, she watches him and occasionally reaches out to brush her fingertips over his penis. He keeps batting her hand away, warning her that he might not make it that long.

When he settles over her, he looks into her eyes for one last glance of approval, which she gives without hesitation. He enters her and groans as her heat surrounds him. She's so wet for him, and it makes him even harder. He thrusts into her, pulling out until he's just brushing her before plunging in again. It doesn't take long for her to orgasm again, especially when he keeps alternating his touch between her breasts and her clitoris.

While she's recovering again, he pulls out and places a gentle hand on her hip.

"Roll over," he whispers, and she nods blearily as she rolls onto her side. He positions himself behind her and pushes into her again.

She gasps in shock, holding perfectly still as he adjusts.

"Is this okay?" he whispers, and she nods fiercely, her hair tickling his nose.

"Oh, God, yes."

He keeps thrusting, reaching over her hip to toy with her clitoris as he goes deeper and deeper. She can't even breathe, she's screaming for him, telling him how much she loves him as he keeps driving into her. He can barely catch his own breath, but he holds out until she's at the verge of another bout of ecstasy.

"I love you," he whispers, pinching her clitoris and thrusting. She screams again as she goes over, and he follows, dropping his head to her back and groaning loudly as he comes.

* * *

It's dawn when he wakes up and sees the sunlight drifting through the curtains and across the naked woman beside him. Part of him imagines this was all a dream, but the feel of her beneath his fingers, her back pressed against his rapidly hardening penis… No, this is real.

"Good morning to you, too," she mumbles into the pillow, grinding her bottom against him. He groans and tries not to think about how much he wants her.

"I love you," he whispers, leaning over and kissing her neck softly.

She flips over and straddles his chest, her naked body rubbing against his in the most exquisite way.

"I wanted to do this last night," she says, leaning toward him and pressing her aroused nipples against his as she kisses his neck. He groans again.

"Why didn't you?"

"You drove it right out of my mind."

"That was my goal."

She slides herself over him, briefly allowing his erection to touch her center.

"Please, Ruth, don't tease."

"We should probably get back to the kids," she says, starting to lift herself off his hips. He pulls her right back.

"They'll be fine for another few hours," he says.

"A few hours?" she asks, and he marvels for a minute at the halo of beautiful brunette curls surrounding her eyes in the sunlight.

"You'd be surprised," he growls, tightening his grip on her. "Now, make love with me, my beautiful, wonderful Ruth."

"If you insist," she whispers, and she pulls him in for a long, deep kiss.


	20. Some Time Later

**Some time later...**

"Do you like your dress?" Ruth asks Emma, who twirls again, the pink organza fluttering around her.

"I _love_ it!" she says, and Ruth laughs as Catherine nudges one of her hairs back into place.

"There," Catey says, standing back to admire her work. "You look gorgeous."

"Thank you," Ruth says, smoothing down the front of her dress nervously. "I hope your father thinks so."

"Of course he will," Julia says confidently. "He thinks you look beautiful in a potato sack."

Ruth blushes and Catey laughs. Emma twirls again. There's a knock on the door, and Julia stands to answer it. Malcolm pokes his head through the crack and grins at Ruth.

"You look wonderful," he says.

"What, no Shakespeare?" she teases.

"Even the Bard couldn't capture you in this moment," he says seriously.

"Oh, don't make her cry," Catey says. "We've only just got the mascara on her!"

"Come on, then," he says, holding out his arm. "Let's go make you Lady Pearce."

* * *

The ceremony is quiet and perfect. Graham stands behind his father, the best man, and waves at Emma happily as she bounces down the aisle. Malcolm walks Ruth in, and all of Section D – who miraculously showed up without a terrorist in tow – let out little sobs.

Harry watches Ruth, and only Ruth, as she walks up to him and he barely resists the urge to immediately pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless.

"Hi," he says instead.

"Hi," she whispers, and then the ceremony starts.

When he finally gets the chance to kiss the bride, Harry gives her a painfully chaste peck on the lips, and Section D groans.

"I promise you'll get more than that," he whispers into her ear, "but if I give it to you now, we might get in trouble for fornicating in a public place."

She blushes scarlet and Graham clears his throat to remind them that he and Catherine can still hear them.

* * *

"Mummy, do I have to go with Julia and Graham?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so," Ruth says, stroking her daughter's hair. "Just for a few nights, though. And Graham said he can take you to the zoo if you'd like."

"But why can't I stay here?" Emma whines, Persephone keening in harmony from her feet.

"Because…"

_Because your father and I are going to have wild sex all over the house and we don't want to wake you up._

_Because I want to make sure we don't have any timing issues._

"Because," Graham says, scooping her into his arms and swinging her around, "I need someone to go see the lions with me. Julia is afraid of them," he adds in a conspiratorial whisper.

"You're afraid of lions?" Emma says, looking over at her sister-in-law.

"Terrified," Julia says with a straight face.

"Didn't you see _The Lion King_?"

Ruth laughs and looks over at the doorway as Harry reappears. He smiles at her and walks toward his son to hug his youngest.

"You be good for your brother, all right?"

"Daddy, do I have to go?"

"Yes," he says firmly. "But you get to take Persey. And you'll have to make sure Graham walks her every day."

"Persey's coming with me?" Emma repeats, obviously thrilled.

"She is," he says, smiling at her.

She hugs him tightly and kisses his cheek. He sets her down and she runs over to hug Ruth, whispering a quick, "I love you, Mummy."

Julia grabs the bag and Graham pulls his sister into his arms, Persey's lead clutched in his hand.

"Thank you," Ruth says, and Julia grins at her.

"Of course. Enjoy yourselves," the younger woman says without a hint of a blush.

Ruth blushes enough for all of them.

"We'll call you when we come to pick her up," Harry says, and his son nods.

"If you remember," Graham adds cheekily.

"Go on, then," Harry says, swatting the back of his head. "Drive safely."

After the car disappears down the street, Harry turns back to Ruth.

"So, Lady Pearce," he says, voice low, "what should we do now?"

"I think a nice nap is in order," she says, collapsing on the sofa.

"Oh." He looks distinctly disappointed, and she almost feels bad for stringing him along.

"Or," she says slowly, "I might be able to find enough energy for a jousting match, if you're up to it, _Sir_ Harry."

"Jousting, eh?" he says, a wicked glint in his eyes.

"I seem to recall you're particularly good at thrusting," she continues, watching the arousal in his eyes and his jeans.

"Really? Because I think I'm quite good at the _coup de grace_," he says, pouncing on her and leaning in to suck at her neck.

"The death-blow?" she says indignantly.

"Oh, I forgot," he says, kissing her jaw briefly. "That's your territory, isn't it?"

* * *

"We fell off the sofa," Ruth giggles under his weight.

"When I have to have you," he says seriously, "I have to have you."

"It would have hurt if you hadn't been doing… that."

"Doing what?"

"Don't be coy with me, Sir Harry. You know damn well."

"You mean this?"

"No…"

"Or maybe this?"

"Er…"

"Oh, no. You must mean…"

"Oh, God!"

"That's what I thought."

* * *

"It's really not necessary."

"Ruth, you and I both know neither of us will be comfortable until we do this."

"But…"

"It's absolutely necessary, Ruth."

"What if she doesn't make friends?"

"She will. She's as beautiful as her mother and as friendly, too."

"What _did_ she inherit from you?"

"Hopefully not my hairline."

"She could have just avoided Miss Kent."

"Ruth, we're taking her to the new school, and that's final."

* * *

Emma stares ahead and looks first at her father, and then at her mother.

"Is this it?" she whispers, and Ruth nods.

"Do you like it?"

"It looks nice," she says slowly.

"Let's go meet your teacher," Harry offers, and leads his little family toward the school.

"Hello," says the beautiful woman a few minutes later. "My name's Miss O'Connor. You must be Emma."

Emma nods, shyly hanging onto her mother's knee.

"I hear you like to read," Miss O'Connor continues, ignoring the parents completely.

Emma nods.

"What's your favorite book? I like Winnie-the-Pooh books."

"Mine's _The Odyssey_," Emma says seriously. "Mummy read it to me."

"Did she?" Miss O'Connor says, looking at Ruth with newfound interest.

"She did," Harry says, looking lovingly at his wife.

"Yes, well, you can only read _The Gruffalo_ so many times before you need a little variety," Ruth says, looking at her husband.

"Emma, do you want to meet some other girls? I think you'll get along very well with them."

Emma nods and starts to follow her new teacher before she runs back and hugs her parents tight.

"I love you," she whispers to them, and Ruth and Harry immediately crouch beside her and hug her back.

"Oh, sweetheart, we love you, too," Ruth whispers, stroking her hair.

When they untangle, Harry waves at his daughter. "Have a good day!" he says, voice a little hoarse.

When they're back in the car, Harry breaks down and Ruth reaches over to comfort him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Oh, Harry," she whispers. "She'll have so much fun, won't she?"

"I know she will," he says, running his nose over his forearm. "But it's so hard to say goodbye to her again."

"We'll see her in a few hours," Ruth points out. "And we'll be taking care of her for at least the next decade. And I'm sure that we'll reach a point where we wish we could say goodbye to her for more than the length of a school day."

"Ruth," he scolds, but with a smile.

"Just think what the impact will be on our sex life during the holidays," Ruth points out. He goes quiet. "Yes, I think you'll miss school time."

"It's not too late for boarding school, is it?"

She laughs and kisses him sweetly.

* * *

"Are we going to be together forever?" Emma asks at the table that night. Harry looks almost nervously at her mother.

"What do you mean, darling?"

"We're a family, aren't we?"

"Of course we are," Catherine says, and Mark nods. "A bit of a strange one, but a family."

"And one that's probably going to be growing soon," Harry says, and Graham and Julia blush.

When everyone's left for the night, and Emma's finally asleep in bed with Persey at her side, Harry pulls Ruth down beside him on the sofa and holds her to his chest.

"Did you ever think we'd make it to now?" he whispers, watching the fireplace.

"No," she says honestly. "I hoped we would, though."

"She's perfection, Ruth," he says after a moment.

"She's ours," she says seriously. "Of course she is."

They lean into each other and listen to heartbeats just as entwined as their hands are.

"Should we go to bed?" he asks, and her heart flutters at the domesticity of the situation.

"Let's," she whispers, and kisses him softly.

They crawl into their shared bed, curl around each other, and shut their eyes. He presses a blind kiss to her forehead and breathes his love, and she presses her hand to his chest before repeating him.

And together, they sleep.

* * *

**A/N:** Well, it's rather unexpected for me, but this was the last chapter. I also believe this was my last story – I hope you enjoyed it, and thank you, as always, for the wonderful feedback! :)


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